The Savior of Darkness
by Kate Lynn
Summary: Courage isn't always enough. Timely minutes could have cost Ginny her life, and restored another's soul. Darkness is rising again, but with it comes a frail beam of hope. Can ancient errors be undone on time, or does this Riddle only have one anwer?
1. Default Chapter

Prelude: The Angel Closes Her Eyes   
  
  


There is no more transfixing sight than the tears of despair, for which one was helpless to do anything but watch. Perhaps a weaker person would haveturned away, but for me it was not possible. And she cried shamelessly, streaming salty tears down her splotched face, dampening both her unbound hair and torn dress. She clawed at herself, unable to contain any instincts that overtook her, retching and heaving, screaming and whimpering. Her voice was not natural, for it had an animal's baseness, and instinct kept her pinned to the ground alternately swaying and pounding. I did not think so much emotion was capable of being in any one person at the same time, that such an outpour could be so heart rendering and sincere without actual effort to carry on the pain, or submission into unconscious. But she submitted and rendered to none, and nature was not kind enough to give her a faint heart. So the gasping, sobbing, hopeless shrieking of a desperate soul with nothing left to cling to went on interminably, conveying more powerfully than words their message_. I cry out._   
  
She bore the wounds of love. And me? I was an empty shell. I was numb - emotionally void, as if something had wrenched from me all my desires, my longing and my hope. As if all my efforts and strife for this one event had come to an end finally, only to leave me without any other part to call myself. What I had put my soul into, what had taken from me so much more than I thought I had been able to give, now lay before me, a finished project other than my own, yet I could lay no claim to it. Therefore, I was left with nothing.   
  
In many ways I had pitied her as much as I'd delighted in her, since she still had things for which she could lose and mourn. She could not contain that part of herself, the idealistic notion of the advantage of humanity's sorrow. She fed off of that faith, preyed on it voraciously. If nothing else, she was a creature of emotion that was uncompromising at core. The unnamed part. The disembodied voice. Now it is but a whisper. In every way that made her role stronger and more purposeful, and her sacrifice more perfect. I placed my warming hand on her stilling chest, drawing the spark of life within. As I did so, I gave her a farewell befitting her part in my legacy. "Goodnight, Virginia."


	2. Chapter 1: A ReMemory

Chapter 1: A Re-Memory

Her last breath was an exhale. It blew up in wispy, twisting tendrils that snaked in through my nostrils into my lungs, filling me with the first breath of life in fifty years. I held it there; captured it safe in my chest until it burned my insides with the fire of pressure and I thought my being would explode. It was warm and sweet and remained even after I had exhaled its cold, useless waste back down to her still form. My hand was still on her chest, but the pulsing I felt was from my trembling veins. I could feel the blood coursing through me with a new life. It pounded and made me woozy as I stood and stared in fascination at my moist palm. I hadn't walked as a sixteen year old in fifty years.

The thought made me giddy, and I would have swept the cooling Virginia up in my arms and twirled with her had I been steadier. Drawing her life had been intoxicating. I was reborn on my own terms. I turned, rocking slightly as my limbs accounted for gravity. There she laid, a suitable life-line and bearer, if a little stubborn at times. And beside her lay the diary, with my words that had fed and filled her with my life, twisting her to create my whim. And I had molded her just enough. Even at sixteen I had been a better father than my own ever could have been.

My eyes narrowed. The diary. I walked and leaned across, gingerly picking up the binding and cradling it in my arms. I smiled. Poison, like words, worked from the inside, eating outward. Hogwarts would be the next host.

Circumstance decided which step would be taken next. In the distance behind me I heard the faint hollow trippings of running steps. There was little time. I stood before the pillar, clutching the diary beneath my robes. Raising my voice, I called her forth. My pet. A low, guttural hiss was heard behind the rumbling shift of rock, followed shortly by her dark shadow. I could feel her gaze on me, could picture the glowing pools of eerie light, and no words had to be spoken.

My chest contracted, I must say. I could feel her sorrow, but knowing that her fate bound her loyalty and obedience to me. I did all that I could for her, for she had served her purpose as well as she could. I promised her retribution. For I was destined to finish Salazar's plan, but it would be alone. Her sacrifice, as well, was needed.

All that I heard was the dull smack of breaking rock, and the dust curled over my robes and shoes. The ground trembled and split as her heavy body, having rammed itself upward toward the ceiling and now came crashing down to the ground. And I heard a young voice gasp as the walls began to vibrate, a voice that I knew instinctively. A voice that chilled and enflamed me, twisting my insides as well as my face. I heard him call again, heard him running, and fought for composure. A lifetime of waiting and ...work filled the gap within me.

He looked so small. Crouching there, gathering Virginia to him. At least he noticed her now. I would have to tell him that that had been her one wish when she was alive. Well, one of the main ones. She had had many wishes that she had shared with me. She had shared them with me, because no one else would notice her. Now, the attention was meaningless, yet he continued.

I approached so quietly he didn't notice until I was all but towering over him. He was crying unabashedly. He had been crying that night long ago as well. I instinctively recoiled from him, poised to flee when he spoke. Sobbing, he choked out that hated Muggle name. He told me his name, like I didn't know it. I vaguely heard him amid choking, something about why I was here, and some reference to Virginia. I cocked my head to look at her. She looked more peaceful that she had ever been when talking to me. And I looked back at him, at the pathetic creature that had instilled me with such terror and agony. And I felt love. Love at his suffering, at his helpless rage. It fed me almost as much as Virginia's spirit, his crumbling vision I devoured like a bloodlust. And I didn't want it to end here. Maybe after all the undeserving Mudbloods were incinerated with him flicking the wand. Maybe in front of Dumbledore, that sanctimonious hypocrite who had hated me on sight and belittled my efforts because they happened to differ from his. Maybe when I had his full attention on the severity of ending his life. When the sight of that scar didn't sock my gut and drag the breath right out of me.

He hadn't said anything in awhile, and I realized that I had better speak. It was hard going, to open my mouth with my jaw so tight. My voice sounded funny in my ears, tinny and loud, and then too soft. I hadn't used it in awhile, I suppose it was natural. "Yes, I am...Tom...Riddle."

His tears fogged his glasses. "I don't know what you're doing here, Tom, but we have to get--"

"It's alright. I took care of the ...monster." I motioned to my still pet, my greatest grandfather Salazar's gift to me.

He shook his head, fighting to calm down. "No, no, no, you don't understand, it's not the Basilisk, it's Ginny, its--" he looked at her, never letting go of her even as she became more alien. Quite the Gryffindor, I suppose you could say.

I knelt and felt for a pulse I knew was not to be found. I dropped my head, a tremble in my tone. "I'm so sorry, Harry. Virginia told me that she was coming down here, that she had found out where the ...monster was being kept." I looked up into his eyes, so heartbroken. "I don't know how it happened, but I somehow appeared. It was care, I think." I lowered my voice and leaned in, forcing myself not to flinch. "Virginia from what I could tell was a wonderful little girl. I grew to care for her deeply, you see." I sat back, rolling my head in wonder. "And so brave, to try and face the monster face on."

"You spoke with Ginny?" I could tell he was still wary of me. It would take more charm I could tell.

"Yes, we did. At great length. You see, I don't have much memory of my life before the diary. Of who I was, or how I came to be there. I remember faint bits, like what I told you, but that is all. For all I know, I never was a real person." I turned and reached over, drawing a caressing finger to outline the hem of Virginia's sleeve. The lie rolled off as easily as a memorized prayer. "But something tells me I was. Virginia believed it, too. She promised to help me recreate the past, but we never got to it. An amazing girl, really. She had so little, was so alone, and yet gave up everything she had for those around her."

"Ginny--Ginny felt alone?" The guilt was rising, sliding over his face like a dark shadow. I proceeded to reach out and fully cover him with the guilt of my words.

"Yes, she felt quite alone. I guess we bonded over that--neither one of us having a center. So we drew on each other, in a way. And she finally pulled me out, to finish what she started. I couldn't save her, though. But she'll live on in my memory though. And I defeated the Basilisk. It was almost like fate."

"Fate?" He was drowning but not reaching for my rafts yet. I would enjoy killing that stubborn spirit.

"I said, almost," I replied, rocking back to stand up. "Virginia meeting me--or something like that---her spirit for life and the preservation of it at all costs drawing me out. I would like to think it had a purpose." I eyed him, wrenching the knife. "I mean, I would hate to think that people would die for a cause, for loved ones, and not have it serve a purpose. Not have a meaning. For their deaths to have been in vain. Perhaps you feel differently."

He rose, and then crouched back down, not letting Virginia's head touch the cold stone. She rested there, almost asleep, with him looking down on her. Some guardian angel. Perhaps her reward could be for me to send him to her. My hand suddenly itched for it wand, and I opened my mouth as if to simply engulf him, the false hero with my hatred when a squawk was heard.

We both turned to see that undead bird of Dumbledore's flying toward us, carrying the ancient, beaten Sorting Hat in its claws. I gave a snort of laughter internally. This is what that old kook sent to fight the greatest wizard of all time? A ratty old hat and a probable distant cousin of a chicken? What, would the cranky hat insult me to death? I almost felt embarrassed for him, and the famous boy wonder.

Fawkes, that was his name. Fawkes came to rest beside Virginia. He leaned in over her, and against my will I drew in my breath along with the boy. But Fawkes did nothing, for there wasn't anything anyone could do. He turned sadly to the boy, extending a wing of compassion that the boy stroked. Then Fawkes noticed me, and he immediately jumped before the boy. It was adorable, in a useless way.

The boy just leaned down and whispered to the bird, "It's all right, Fawkes. He - tried to help." He said this carefully, looking up at my impassive face, carved like the stone upon which he stood. We sat locked like that for a moment, until the trembles in the wall became greater. Rock and smoke where the basilisk had struck herself were beginning to fall, rolling down the crevices. Fawkes, the boy and I all spun and looked up at the crumbling around us. My fists clenched. My home, my first family private spot, was caving in on itself. Salazar's plan had failed; it was easier to see it that way than the alternative. But his ideas rang true, and I would see them become a reality.

He touched me. Actually reached out, grabbed my robe, and yanked me along. My shin shivered and tightened. I never liked to be touched, especially by HIM. But there was no time to react to it. We ran down the hall, the tumbling stones ringing our ears and we slid on the smooth dust covering the ground. In the nearing corner we heard voices.

"Don't touch that!" I heard another young voice, followed by a swish.

A posh voice replied in utter glee. "Well, would you look at that! I must say...this reed looks much better in my hand. How did you make the attractive sparks come out of it?"

"It's _not_ a reed. It's a _wand_! Now _give it back_!" I heard a lunge, and what sounded like a scuffle.

The boy next to me looked alarmed and called out, "Ron! What's going on there?"

"Oof!" The fight continued, with Ron saying in short breaths, "Harry? How's Ginny? Ginny, are you all right?!"

That stopped him at my side, his eyes closing behind the glasses. "It was too late, Ron. I was too late."

We had reached the partial rock impasse. Half the stones of a cave-in had been removed, so a view of those on the other side was possible. There stood a foppish man whose elegant clothes were spattered in dust and tears, and whose hair was in disarray. He had a vacant look in his eyes and a childish grin on his face. He was turning the boy Ron's wand around in his manicured hand, humming to himself.

The other one was boy, about the same age as the one who stood beside me. I recognized him from Virginia's description. It must be her brother Ron. She had so many brothers. Ron, who was sweet enough to her but too insecure to have time to deal with her. The shadow of the famous Potter. He was in clothes already worn, but now they had irreparable damage. None of that compared to look of hopeless anguish and disbelief that corroded his face.

He just kept repeating again and again, "No, no," even as the body of Virginia was shown to him.

The Boy Wonder was cradling her, and his arms were shaking with effort and anguish. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I am so, so sorry."

Ron came forward, tears streaming down his face. "Ginny - I told you, Harry. I should have gone with you to save her. You shouldn't have gone ahead. I should have been there." He reached out to touch her chilled form.

"It was too late, Ron. We wouldn't have made it. We were even too late to stop the Basilisk." He gestured toward me. "Tom here killed it."

"Tom?" Ron's eyes, glazed, turned to look at me.

"Tom Riddle. You know, from the diary." Boy Wonder chose his words carefully. "I don't know how, but he was released. The Basilisk was dying before him when I got there. And Ginny-" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"You, you were with her? I mean, at the, at the -" Ron couldn't finish either. Virginia would have liked to know exactly how much he cared. Though whether he had wanted to be there to save her or to alleviate his own guilt I questioned.

I stepped forward. "I was with her, Ron. At the end. She went quickly, from what I could see. I was a little taken with the Basilisk." I hated to give him the comfort of that lie. "But she was truly remarkable, from what I knew of her. And what she did." She deserved that dignity. And the retribution of seeing the weight it thrust onto her family. He probably didn't even know she had it in her.

We stood like that, a triangle around her. Finally the fop, Lockhart, broke the silence with a squeal. "Well! I do say, that is most unfortunate. I think I am grieving as well. Did I know her?"

We all turned to him. He stood there, looking surprised at our disgust. "I just hate you," Ron said.

Lockhart looked insulted. "Well, there is certainly no call for that, young man. I don't recall doing anything to you. Not that I recall much of anything."

Ron twisted out of the grip Boy Wonder tried to lock him in with one hand. He approached Lockhart, practically spitting. "No, you don't remember anything, because you tried to erase our memories, and it backfired on you."

"Well, I certainly don't remember doing _that_," Lockhart sniffed. "Are you quite sure you've got it right there?"

"Oh, I am _quite_ sure there," Ron said. I thought he would strike Lockhart right then and there, had the ceiling not begin collapsing at an increased rate. I fell over, and Boy Wonder stumbled, desperately trying to prevent Virginia from hitting the ground. I instinctively reached out to her, not trusting him with her body, but he had her shielded.

Ron had fallen too, and now bore a bloody head wound. "What are we going to do, Harry?" he cried.

Harry shook his head in helpless despair. Fawkes hopped impatiently on his shoulder, tugging him upward. My eyes widened, for I remembered Dumbly-Do-Right saying long ago that phoenixes could carry a tremendous amount of weight. But of course, I couldn't say that I remembered that. Instead I gritted my teeth and offered, "I think the bird is trying to tell you something---Harry."

Harry's eyes then widened, and he grasped Virginia tighter while calling to Ron, "It's Fawkes! He can carry us out!"

"All of us?" Lockhart sounded dubious. "Are you sure that's quite safe?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You stay here then."

Boy Wonder waved Lockhart over. "Unless you have a better idea, I think we should trust Fawkes."

Ron came over and gently placed his hands on Virginia, grasping her and Boy Wonder. I turned and said, "Harry, you hold Virginia then, and Fawkes can hold your shoulder. Ron, then you hold. I'll hang onto you, and then Lockhart-"

"Can go last so he'll be the one to drop if it's too heavy?" Ron muttered thickly. I almost smiled. He had an appealingly scathing humor when he was distraught.

"Hang on," Lockhart began to protest, but there wasn't enough time for him to get it all out. We clung to each other, and their putrid stenches made me wish to vomit.

Fawkes spread his wings, and took off without so much as a strain or tremor. ~_Phoenixes really were amazing creatures_ ~ I mused as we rose above the dust and decay. It didn't seem possible for the bird to hold such a burden without a flinch. Not that this one must have been particularly bright, to have stayed with Albus for so long.

I continued to hear the ruin below. I closed my eyes, choosing not to look down at the crumbling waste that had been my sanctuary at Hogwarts. I would bring it back, I promised my ancestor and myself. Only this time, it would be above ground. Not in hiding and tunneled below, but a majestic sight that all would see and not be able to touch.

It didn't take long, considering how deep the cavern really was. Before I knew it, we were up and back in that girl's lavatory. I scanned it in wonder. It had the same dripping faucets, the same tiled floor. There was that small crack near the base of the third stall. I smiled in sad remembrance that quickly fled for fear of being caught.

I stood and straightened, still a bit unsure of my footing. On the ground now, Ron was cradling his sister. Everyone else backed off and gave him space.

"Ron, I'll go and, and get McGonagall," Harry sounded uncertain, not sure how to act now that his bravery had not been enough. It must run in the family. It was easier to call him by his given name when he was like that. He began to back away, when a voice froze us all.

"That won't be necessary." It was gravelly and low, but completely unmistakable. It froze me from my heart to my extremities, boiling my blood so that my veins throbbed enough to pound. A terror and hatred gripped me, as well as a steeling glow of determination. He would not ruin me a second time. Neither of them would. I unclenched my hands in front of me, and turned, with my eyes never casting downward. And I met him head on. The Headmaster.

Dumbledore stood there before me. He hardly looked surprised. But then, he had crafted the same gift I had. To seem that he expected everything that came. I knew, inside, that he felt the same way towards me as I did to him. I knew him oh so well. I had never bought any of that patience he had tried to show towards me from time to time, seeing it for what it was. A power hold over me, an attempt to cast me down below him because I could face and do what he would not. Could not.

And now here he was again. Same blue robes, same glasses, and same frizzy long white hair. Only a lot older, it seemed. Older, and more cautious in stance. Yet with a grounded bearing and firmness of being that he had used long ago. That had only solidified over the years. Part of me wanted to break into a wide smile and spin for him on display, to see me again as I was. To show him I'd outsmarted him all those years ago, and preserved a time that he no doubt that was long past due to his superiority.

Instead, I just stood there, making my eyes as impassive as the blue I stared into. His mouth worked before the words came out. "Tom."

_~In the flesh ~_ I thought glibly.

He took a step toward me. "Tom... It cannot be -" He stood right in front of me now, and didn't shift his gaze as Harry stumbled to explain.

"You see, Professor, I met him down in the chamber. He had just defeated the Basilisk--"

"Is that so?" Dumbledore murmured. I still remained impassive.

Harry, a bit confused, answered. "Yes, sir. At least that's what he said. I saw it die before him. He says that Ginny drew him out of a diary. He was concerned for her, as we were. Unfortunately--" Harry stopped and turned back to Ron and Virginia.

Dumbledore's eyes finally left me, and settled on the brother and sister. "Oh, dear," was all he said before kneeling creakily down beside Ron. Tenderly, he encased both Ron's and Virginia's hands in his own. "Ron, I am so very sorry for your loss. I will do everything possible for you, and your family."

Ron was almost empty of tears and voice, but managed, "She tried to take on the Basilisk herself, Sir. She didn't come to anyone, she just, just -"

"But that's not entirely true, is it now?" Dumbledore turned back to face me, his eyes searching. "She told you, Tom, then, did she? What exactly happened?"

I was expecting this. Taking a deep breath, I looked him in the eye and answered in a truthful voice, "I don't really know Sir, beyond what Harry here told you. I spoke with her, in her diary. We became friends. I don't remember much about my past, you see." At that he tilted his head back and sucked in air, which I forced myself not to notice. I plunged onward. "I know I know you, but my memory of even that is blurry at best. Virginia was going to help me, you see. She was a sweet little girl, and I came to care for her. She told me, through the diary, that she was going to fight the Basilisk. She wouldn't tell me why, or how she came to this knowledge of where it was. She took the diary along, to keep track of her steps so someone later could follow, if she didn't come back. She left me at the entrance. She didn't even want to risk hurting a diary by taking it along. But somehow, I heard her calling for me."

At that, Ron gave a stir. I knew that must have smarted, thinking she called for me and not him. Continuing, I said, "And somehow, I became alive. It happened slowly, but I followed the tunnel into the chamber as soon as I could. There I found the Basilisk." I placed a tremble into my voice. "I don't know how it happened, but I wished the creature ill, that it would collapse under the weight of the rocks above, and it - it just happened, Sir." I dropped my eyes momentarily, closing them for effect. "Then I turned to Virginia, but she wasn't moving at all. And then," I turned and pointed, "He showed up. Harry. He wrote to me as well, and I told him everything I remembered. I - I think there must have been another chamber, because I remember casting out another monster that was hurting the school before."

Dumbledore rose, not releasing his hold on Ron. It now rested on Ron's shaking back. "There is much here that needs to be discussed. First of all, I need to summon the other teachers-"

"Excellent idea!" The bombast interruption by Lockhart surprised us all, for I know I had forgotten the vapid presence. But there he was, twirling Ron's wand and striding to the door. "Let me lead the way, I feel that I should be in charge. Only," He paused and turned to face Dumbledore. "Only, where am I going again? Do I know the way?"

Dumbledore's eyes showed a little puzzlement. "Gilderoy?" he spoke questioningly, turning to Harry to explain.

"When we found out about Ginny, Sir, we went to Lockhart for help. But he's a fake, you see." The anger was evident, and before Lockhart could protest Harry rushed on. "He never did anything brave, and he was going to run out. He tried to take our memories, twice. We forced him to come with us. And the second time he tried to take our memories, he had Ron's wand, and it backfired on him."

Dumbledore looked between the puffing Lockhart and Ron's nodded approval of Harry's description. "That's what he did, Sir," Ron added. "With the Obliviate Spell."

Dumbledore nodded as Lockhart said, "Ah, there we go! That's a spell. Obliviate!" He cried that out before anyone could stop him, watching the sparks fly out of the tip of the wand this time and hit me square in the chest. I felt myself fly backward, my vision darkening from the blow.

...


	3. Chapter 2: A Charmed Existence

**Chapter 2: A Charmed Existence**

Light and color slowly seeped back before my eyes, and the air knocked out found its way back into my desperate lungs. I gasped and shrank back against the wall, feeling sweat pouring out of me. I saw...I'd seen... I don't know what. An old man and two young boys, a dim-looking dandy and a young girl lying on the ground, eerily still. I tried to sort it out, but it was as if a fog had filled my mind, blocking even the slightest bit of information from coming forth. Yet somehow the room felt familiar, and instinct told me to get away, far away, from these creatures.

The old one approached me. There was nowhere for me to go, so I stayed down. My face involuntarily composed itself to the best of its abilities. It was the greatest defense I could think of, though its success I doubted with every beat of my pounding heart.

~*~

Albus slowly approached... he didn't know quite what to call what was before him. Part of him wanted to label  the crouching, stunned sight an _it_. A creature that couldn't be fully understood nor trusted. Most of him felt like this. Yet, there was another part that stubbornly refused to be blinded to what appeared on the outside; a frightened-looking child, in absolute terror and confusion, whose whole past was most likely ripped from him. A terrified creature, who was now bravely trying to cover up any crack that might be used against him. A child who's instinct was building up walls instead of reaching out. A child whom he remembered quite well, and quite painfully. 

A child Tom Riddle.

He had never forgotten Tom. He doubted anyone could. By far Tom had been the most brilliant student Hogwarts had ever had. Decidedly the most cunning mind he had ever encountered. One that Albus had never felt sure about how to handle. In that respect, Tom was the biggest regret of his life. Though where exactly he had gone wrong he wasn't sure. He had been told that Tom wasn't his fault, and he believed that. Intellectually, he knew that. Tom had made his choices. He had been dealt a dire hand, but ultimately his life had been his creation. Albus _knew_ that.

Tom hadn't wanted his reaching hand. Whatever guidance he had tried to offer him had been met with that calm stare, its penetration reaching no deeper than the surface. 

But had he offered the wrong things? He had never quite been able to warm up to Tom, though he had tried with all his being to mask that. There had always been something about the bright but shielded boy that had made him uneasy. Had Tom always sensed his apprehension, his guardedness? As much as he hated to admit it, Slytherins always had to earn his trust more so than other students, a prejudice that somewhat remained to this day, he was ashamed to say. Had he never given Tom the full acceptance that he longed for? He had been younger than, oh, yes. His patience and wisdom, if he could call it that, had not always been there at his fingertips. He hadn't had the experience he now did. He was a very different person than he had been fifty years ago. Part of that change was because of Tom - this unreachable boy. He had grown since then.

Or was this now his own ideality, his own ego in a way, which felt he could have changed the seemingly inevitable if he'd been then as he was now? 

Now. What was now? What was he dealing with?

He knelt down before Tom. Brilliant blue eyes were directed back at his. A cold color, but one at least human. Albus' first instinct was to try and calm him. "There now. It is all right." A wary gaze was his response. Albus tried again. "Can you remember anything?"

The eyes searched him, blinking as droplets of sweat slid into them. They searched every aspect of his face, before a soft voice answered. "No. I don't." The voice cut Albus short. It had the slightly accented cadence that it had possessed long ago, when Tom had first come to Hogwarts. Before he had polished it up, going from an orphaned dialect to prim intellectual. That change hadn't taken long, and it had been so slight that most had never noticed Tom's original accent. But Albus had.

Right then Tom looked so distraught, even through his façade, that Albus instinctively reached for his shoulder. When he did so, Tom violently recoiled. The reaction was so abrupt that Albus immediately stopped. He frowned, pondering this act. It had been so quick that it seemed instinctual. Carefully, intentionally, he drew his hand back, trying again with words. "Do you remember your name?" Again, the boy shook his head, eyes cautious. He had drawn his knees up to him protectively. Albus persisted despite the lack of response. "How about the name Tom Riddle. Does that mean anything to you?"

The eyes went out of focus momentarily, and then closed. A shiver overtook the boy, but Albus didn't dare reach for him again. He waited in silence, as did the whole room, for Tom to come back. The effort seemed painful, if his strained brow was anything to go by. When he reopened his eyes, they were more clearly guarded. "I feel that I know it. And that I don't want to."

Albus sucked in his breath. The look..._the look!_ He wanted to tell Harry to run. To tell everyone to scatter, and get away from this... person. Except -Tom looked like he wanted nothing better than to run away as well. He had been honest about his dislike, that much seemed evident. And Albus could rarely remember Tom being anything but evasive.

Drawn back by Tom´s voice, he heard the boy ask, "Is that who I am? Do you know?"

What could he say? Albus looked around, realizing the futility of this act. There was no help, no guidance here. He sighed and then said simply, "I am not exactly certain." Honesty was not a bad brick to begin the bridge with Tom.

Tom looked crestfallen at that, and a hint suspicious. He cocked his head to one side, as he had always done in the past, and asked slowly, "But I know you, don't I? Am I right?"

Albus internally gave a snort that was half laughing to cover up a shred of surprise. Surprise, and uncontrollable amazement. He should have known the spell wouldn't knock everything out of Tom. Perhaps it was because Gilderoy had used Ron´s broken wand. Maybe it was simply because Gilderoy himself had done it, and an Obliterated Gilderoy at that. 

Or it was because Tom Riddle was too powerful for a simple charm to work fully... or forever. How long was there before it all came back? Was there enough time?

"Professor?" Harry! He´d nearly forgotten about the others. He turned to Harry, seeing the boy´s flush. Breathing deep, Albus gave him a calming smile he didn't feel.

"It is all right, Harry. Your interruption is anything but. I must ask you to do something for me now. Is that possible?" Harry nodded eagerly. He would be hungry to do something, anything to help. Harry would wish to regain some shred of self as he knew it. Dumbledore reached up and patted him. "Harry, go and find Madam Pomfrey. Ask her to awaken Professors Snape and McGonagall and have them come here. Can you do that?"

It was as if he had been given the task of defeating the Lebon Green Dragon. Nodded swiftly, Harry took off down the darkened halls. After seeing his shadow retreat, Albus turned back. Ron was still clinging to Ginny. The sight tore him apart. He wanted to go to Ron, and to all of the Weasleys. Molly and Arthur were waiting in his office for him to return with news. His heart was given entirely to them, but his wary mind was fixed on Tom sitting beside him. And on Gilderoy, who was busy turning on all the faucets and cleaning himself up. Someone would have to look after him, as well. Albus sighed, wishing there were many more of himself.

"Is she all right?" Tom's voice broke into his thoughts and surprised him. He spun his head round quickly, searching Tom's face. Tom's face blanched from the scrutiny, and the walls were drawn over his eyes again. Albus wished that, with all of his experience, he could draw Tom's shield off without deflecting his own. At face value, there was nothing wrong with his question. It had been a small inquiry, and seemed genuine and harmless enough. But he simply could not trust Tom - could not trust anything he said or did or even thought. Even a simple statement he had to ground out and question if there was an ulterior motive. _But that was to be expected,_ he told himself. His students came first, and this boy wasn't his student. Was he?

"No, Tom. She is not." He answered simply, watching Tom's eyes graze over her with a cool intensity that was impossible to read.

He then turned back to Albus and replied, "My name is Tom, then?" It could have been a defensive response, in reaction to the mistrust Dumbledore had exhibited. Feelings of fault crept their wormlike way into ensnaring his mind.

_No,_ Albus thought irritably. Why should he give Tom the benefit of the doubt? He had been right about Tom before. Dippet, Binns, and all of the other professors Tom had had never questioned him, with catastrophic results. Albus alone had stood, defying that appearance of perfection. Now, when his school was at risk, he could not afford to hand out trust. He knew this. Yet all he felt now was guilt -

"You should go to him," Tom nodded in Ron´s direction. "I think he needs you."

Before Albus could even think about how he wished to respond to that, Harry reentered the room. Following him were Severus, Minerva and Poppy. All of them were breathless with exertion and nerves. Upon seeing Tom, all of their eyes widened. Albus could see the memories of years pass through some of them. Minerva recovered quickly, with only a slight mouth drop. But Poppy actually let out a squeal. Fear rooted them, for they all knew the future of Tom Riddle, even if the one here recalled not even his past.

Severus instead turned to stone, with his right hand tightly clenched over his left arm. He didn't look like he quite recognized Tom, but Albus sensed suspicion. Albus looked at him questioningly, his eyes hinting at the mark. The dog tag, the Voldemort branding of cattle. Severus made a slight shake of his head to signal he felt no pain, and quickly dropped his hand. Albus nearly smiled sadly. He knew Severus well now, and his arm definitely hurt. But, now was not the time to deal with that.

Feeling the need to act before the gaping silence became more noticeable, Albus said, "Minerva, please see to Ron and his family." The portrait of Ron and Ginny sagging drew eyes and breaths. Minerva immediately jumped into action. Upon seeing the sight, she hadn't even falter. She wouldn't have, Albus knew. But seeing her act like the former pupil, current comrade, and close friend he knew brought renewed strength to Albus. Minerva had immediately gone to Ron, as did Poppy. Bending, Minerva gently extracted Ginny from Ron´s arms. Pulling out her wand, she quietly said, "Mobilicorpus!" Ginny´s still body rose, shining gray in the bright overhead light. Whispering to Ron, she guided both him and the body of his sister from the room.

Albus then turned to Poppy and said, "Poppy, please escort Professor Lockhart to the infirmary. Harry, go with her and make sure Gilderoy doesn't prove to be in the way of things."

"Excuse me!" Lockhart burst in huffily, but Harry yanked him along.

Finally, Albus turned to Snape, who was looking on silently and impassively. Albus stood up and walked over, gently blocking Snape from Tom. "Severus, I must ask you, please escort Tom here to the infirmary. I will be along very shortly."

He could see Snape had a thousand questions, but didn't push. Albus leaned in and whispered to him, "Severus, do not let him out of your sight. Gilderoy Obliviated him--"

"Of course he did," Snape couldn't help inserting.

"For all we know, that saved a few lives," Albus responded, and then submitted to Snape's raised eyebrows. "However unintentional that good end was."

"I strongly suspect that is the only way that man could do something proper," Snape interjected, and they shared a small smile that was as inappropriate as needed.

A glance over his shoulder at Tom found the boy still sitting on the cold floor, drawn into a ball with an odd half-smile on his face. Making a decision that tightened his chest, Albus said, "I am afraid to say, the pain you deny in your arm is indeed most likely linked to this situation – to him." Albus didn't have to motion to Tom. Snape's gaze went to the boy of their own accord, then back to Albus as Albus continued. "Apparently, the past has most efficiently caught up with us. Severus, that is Tom Riddle…"

Severus still did not seem to fully grasp the subtleness of Albus' words. Lowering his voice further, hating to use the phrase but realizing its prudence in the current situation, Albus finished with, "I believe you would recognize him in fifty years, as You-Know-Who."

Blood did not visibly freeze, but at that moment, Albus could swear he felt it had in Severus' veins. Discreetly grasping Severus' arm, Albus whispered firmly, "Supposedly his memory is gone."

Severus´s eyes back stared into his. "Supposedly."

Albus nodded, reflecting the hesitancy back. "That is what it appears." Realizing with relief that Severus would not rashly move to attack, Albus released him.

A long moment passed, where Severus did not let Tom out of the corner of his vision. Albus could sense the tension in Severus' muscles beneath his cloak, and also the steady control Severus had learned to counter-act such emotional responses.  Finally folding his arms, fists still clenched, Severus said, "Well, there is only one way to see, really, isn't there? At least to be more certain."

Albus felt his stomach´s insides quiver. Yes, he knew he should proceed, but part of him did not want to. However, he said, "I was about to."

"I can do it, sir." Severus' voice was calm, and had immediately followed on the heals of Albus' response.

Pausing, Albus regarded him. Severus would do it. "No, Severus. I cannot allow you to do it." Albus wasn't prideful enough to think he was clearly a finer Legilimens than Severus. However, Severus' eagerness was too unsettling for Albus. For all of their sakes. 

The corners of Severus' mouth tightened, and he said, "I wasn't speaking of the Imperius Curse, sir." Before Albus could say that he hadn't been thinking that, either, Severus hurried on. "Although, that would bring the most accurate results, wouldn't it? And it would be much better than sending him straight to Azkaban, right?" A pause, then slowly, painfully, he added, "It isn't like I haven't done it before." A dark expression came over his face, before he added firmly, "and wasn't that part of the reason you called for me?"

_Yes_. He couldn't deny that thought had tugged the corner of his mind. Not for Imperius, no, but Severus' insight and his abilities were, in part, directly formed from Voldemort. He might be invaluable here – and it might destroy him. Albus pressed a hand to his throbbing temples. "Even if it is was only used to get the truth, I could not allow it. For his sake, and for yours."

Severus dryly commented, "As though the Minister wouldn't give special permission for this."

"There are very good reasons why we have some lines drawn." The least of which was to give respect to the power certain magics held, and in so doing not abuse them. Exceptions to rules applied in harmony with respect for right, not for personal vengeance. 

"You, a stickler for rules, Headmaster? What if I got his permission for it first?" 

"It would not negate my abhorrence for your eagerness." Albus' voice was quiet but firm. 

Severus looked piercingly at Albus, with a cunning stare Albus sometimes despised for its accuracy. "Or are you just taking pity on what _appears_ to be an innocent child?" Then, as if realizing he had gone too far, he amended, "My apologies, sir." But Albus' mind was not on Severus' insubordination, or his remorse.

Innocent. Albus turned again, to examine Tom. Yes, he appeared innocent. Perhaps this is what Tom had needed. For Albus to trust him and therefore have a foundation upon which to truly try and help him. Would he be more inclined to break the law if it were for another student? Perhaps he deserved this burden, this wavering of the clear line between right and wrong. But then it would not be his burden alone. He certainly would not let Severus start down that path. Not again. The faults of Severus´s past were failures also imprinted upon him. He always felt that way with students gone astray, like most worthy professors did. And he had not given up on Severus. Indeed, the redemption of Severus had been the undertaking of not only Severus´ determination, but also of Albus´ own faith. His life had been redirected, his reform had been possible. But then, Severus had never quite been a Voldemort. And he was a better skilled Legilimens.

"You know how to do it properly, Severus?" 

Snape looked surprised, but nodded with confidence. With confidence and a bit of shame at that confidence. "Yes, Headmaster. And it won't hurt him, if he cooperates. And I can tell if he blocks it, sir. I know when the spell doesn't take proper effect, if you pay attention to certain details. And it's a firmer leg to stand on than what we have now." Severus spoke as one confident in his abilities, as well as the outcome. All that needed was the decision of Albus to be made.

His decision. The weight of it was like an anchor. He understood Severus' reasoning. However, Albus still said, "No. I won't allow it now. In the meantime, I shall do it, coupled with your Veritaserum." He closed his eyes, caught between feeling shame and cowardice and a stubborn certainty that he was doing right.

Snape nodded, his eyes betraying nothing. "Yes, Headmaster." He then left for his potions, and Albus approached Tom. Leaning over, he said, "Tom?" Tom nodded slowly.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged on. "Tom, I - there is something that Professor Snape has to do. I want him to give you something to drink, which will make me sure that you are telling the truth. It should not hurt, and it will only last for a few moments. Is that all right?"

He didn't want to sound untrusting, and it was important to him that Tom be willing. Hurriedly, Albus added, "You see, what has happened with you being here, well, it is most unusual. It will take a very powerful spell - one that will not be harmful, do not worry - but one powerful enough to see if there is something that you know that even you are not sure you are not telling us."

Even Severus, who had returned for the end of his speech, looked a bit confused at the Headmaster´s explanation. Albus justified it with the realization that it had served its purpose. Whether the other two knew it or not, he was doing his best to keep them all both out of danger. Albus would not force a spell upon Tom. At least, not yet. But he would not resist his nagging doubts, as he had done so many years ago. If Tom was faking, Albus´s distrust would be evident but unimportant. But, if he were telling the truth, Albus stood a good chance that Tom had bought his explanation. It was hard to tell from his pale expression.

~*~

I considered my options. I could say no, try to leave, and possibly be killed. I could bolt for the door - and possibly be killed. I could lie, though I knew I might be found out and killed... Or I could tell the truth. I hadn't really lied yet anyway. "Fine," I said cautiously, and braced myself. As Snape pulled out his vial, I noticed Dumbledore moved to stand before the door. This was clever, in case I ran off. Or, perhaps it was for their protection. Since now one was before me and the other behind, there was no way for me to reach both of them at once. A flush of embarrassment swept through me for some reason, since I didn't even recall what I had done to deserve this treatment. And their faces were impenetrable, so I couldn't make sense of either of them. But I certainly felt unsettled and disadvantaged, a sensation I quickly realized I didn't take kindly to.

The man called Snape pointed at me with his wand and said, "Drink it now." I did so, and then flattened against the moist wall, an eerie feeling overtaking me. The squeezing in my chest was a bit painful, and my jaw worked on its own. My eyelids shuddered in surprise as my self-control diminished. Every instinct told me to pull and fight, but at what I wasn't sure. Sweat began to drip as Dumbledore inquired, "Are you Tom Marvolo Riddle?" He seemed quite intent upon maintaining eye contact.   
  
"I think so. It sounds right, but I don't know how or why. I can't remember." I could have tried to fight this, but he said that it would only make it take longer. I chose to answer, some part of me snarling at the submission.   
  
Dumbledore continued, "have you been completely honest tonight in everything that you have said regarding your memory and everything else?" I had the feeling he was doing more than just listening to my answers, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what was occurring.   
  
"Yes," I responded. This answer didn't seem to make him feel better either. He just sighed as Snape released me from the potion´s effects by a mere wave of his wand. As I fell forward, Snape came back around. Again their voices drifted below my register, but the pale contours of their faces I drank in.

~*~

Turning to Albus, Snape asked lowly, "what are you planning on doing with him, Albus? If his memory hasn't returned yet, it still will. What, are you going to test him every hour, to see if his memory has come back and if he's lied?"   
  
His head aching, Albus gave Severus a mild look. "I had not planned on any such thing. For now, he is harmless. His memory should not return that quickly -"

"Unless Vol --unless You-Know-Who chooses, perhaps?" Snape interjected with gritting teeth. He gave Voldemort that name not out of fear, but subtleness to the acknowledgement of Tom being present.   
  
"No, possibly not even then. We do not really know anything yet, Severus. I will need to contact the proper authorities, and try to figure this out. It will be hard, to get people to think rationally." Dumbledore said, stroking his beard, deep in thought.   
  
"Everyone is too guarded now, you mean." Snape nodded grudgingly. "What then? We can't just let him be, Headmaster, you know -"   
  
Dumbledore interjected quietly. "He is Tom Riddle, Severus. But he is not necessarily that one."   
  
Snape almost exploded. "You can't be serious, sir! You, of all people, should realize -"   
  
"Oh, I am not a fool, Severus. But I am up for a challenge. This...rebirth... is a brilliant move by You-Know-Who, if it even is a move. But if I recall him when he was younger, and I do, _very_ well, he never liked anyone having control over him. Someone telling him he was pure evil might drive him the other way, as much as it might entice him. I doubt that this Tom would like it any more, even if a version of himself was doing it." He turned to Snape and said very slowly, "He is _not_ that Tom...not yet."   
  
Snape sighed, raising his hands in defeat. "It would be near impossible, of you ask me. The students aren't stupid--well, the Slytherins aren't. They'll know something is going on. And there are some parts of Lord - of _You-Know-Who_ that are just nature to him. He was a true Slytherin, and he was evil at some level. Granted, this _might_ work for our favor as well, but whose to say we won't create another...problem...right in front of us?"   
  
"That is why we have to proceed with the utmost caution. But even though he is Tom, these spells are complex. Voldemort would be counting on the fact that he is totally evil and corrupt, and I do not believe any human is... I just cannot believe that. It is not merely my guilt speaking. I do not trust him anymore than you do, Severus. Not yet. Nor will I act against him." A sound came from the corner of the room. At that, Albus turned back to Tom.

~*~

I saw Snape sigh, and Dumbledore followed suit, as the came towards me again. I had been straining to hear what was said, to little avail. Their voices were so hollow, I had only caught snatches of it. None of it seemed to make sense.  
  
Where they still talking about me? It was hard to tell. There seemed to have been another name interjected, one that I couldn´t make out. Their voices had dropped to an almost inaudible level, and I don't think they knew I had caught anything. They didn't even seem to remember I was there until right then, when I'd shifted to ease the spasm in my back. They both turned around, and Dumbledore leaned forward, his ever-watchful eyes locking with mine. "Are you all right?"

I nodded, and then winced. "I have a headache," I said. Dumbledore reached down, presumably to get his wand out, and I said hurriedly, "Leave it! I've had enough for one day!" Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other in confusion. Finally Snape shrugged and said, "I forgot about the candy that you kept on you, Headmaster. I suppose he doesn't want any."   
  
"Candy?" I repeated. Dumbledore actually gave me a small smile at that, and offered me some. I was starving beyond belief, having literally not eaten in I don't know how long, but I trusted him about as much as I had enjoyed having the truth forced out of me. "No thanks. Not hungry."   
  
Dumbledore shrugged and released his pockets. They disappeared within the folds of his long robe. "Well, we should think about what to do with you. I image you are quite exhausted. That is a common side effect for spells of this nature, I would imagine."   
  
Snape, standing in his old position of arms crossed complete with sneer, said, "Let one from my House take him." I saw the look of disapproval on Dumbledore's face, but Snape continued, "What, shall we have Granger, or P - another Gryffindor take him? That would be wonderful. Or the Hufflepuff prefect, stuttering the whole way? He's too smart for them. No, I think one from my House would best be suited. I will give the prefects instructions, and let them know that it is to their benefit to keep them." I detested that I couldn't tell whether Snape was being sarcastic or not.  
  
Dumbledore remained quiet. I raised my voice and asked, "Am I to be in this Slytherin, then?"   
  
"No." That decisive response came from the both of them. Then Dumbledore took over. "I do not think we should get the students involved, until we know a bit more of what is going on. I think he should spend the night in the infirmary, but the Weasleys will be in there I imagine. And Lockhart, dear Merlin. Must move him as well." He seemed now even older, as if years of life had been added in one moment. He finished in an almost deflated tone. "We'll figure all that out later. I need some time to think, and consult with others. Severus, perhaps you could hold him for the night? Come to me if you become aware of anything. I will try to figure how to deal with all of this."

Snape nodded grudgingly, though it seemed almost with a bit of pride. I didn't realize I was such a stimulating responsibility. Dumbledore then turned to me and said, "I think that now you should go to sleep."   
  
I stood, making a mental note of all that I had heard. Thomas Riddle, and a Lord of some sort. The words rang through me with chilling waves. It seemed that I was connected to him in some way. Why else would he have been mentioned? Once more facing their guardedness, I also noted that I had to be careful. It seemed no one trusted me any more than I them. Focusing on the only thing I had, my sense of well-being and protectiveness fueled my motions.

I moved forward, between the two who stood at my sides with hawkish eyes. My fists clenched at their secrecy. Having so little certainty about myself was terrifying, as if each step worsened my plight and control. I might have reacted more to it if I weren't so spent, emotionally and physically.   
  
A question came to me then that brightened me enough to ask it. "So do I have a wand? Can I have it?" The brief looks of pure refusal were my answer.   
  
"Not... quite yet," was Dumbledore's reply. Was the man certain of anything? Or was he purposely being vague? I felt even less respect for him either way from my frustration. Here I was, with no real clue about myself, and he seemed more concerned about his school. The only reason he seemed to have to keep me was for his own morality. At least Snape I could respect a bit. He seemed to want me gone, period, if his sneer was anything to go by. But then, he had given the other children the same exact same look.   
  
Snape came around the desk and stood near me. He opened the door, careful not to make contact with me. "I will take you to my rooms. I trust you not to touch _anything_." Yes, I felt the trust. That was all he said as we walked down the enormous hall. I was shivering, and curiosity kept my gaze busy. The paintings moved, and oddly shaped statues and furniture abounded. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of someone leaving from what looked like a wall. A doorway had appeared where a picture of a man taming a lion was. It was all fantastic, bewitching and curious. I lagged behind, hoping Snape wouldn't notice so I could keep watching.   
  
He did notice. "What are lagging for?" He asked me sharply.   
  
I racked my brain for a delay. "Did I know you?" I finally asked.   
  
That forced him to halt. Eyes narrowed and intimidating, he slowly snarled, "Do you remember something?"   
  
I shook my head in innocent. "No, but you act like it. I don't know for certain. I'm not getting anything from you." He looked very relieved at that giving something away in doing so. I then stooped to tie my shoes in a dumb but effective ruse to stall before straightening. By this time, several people were standing before the painting, but the doorway was closed. I was disappointed I hadn't been able to see inside the room. However, since I couldn't hear what they were saying, there was no need to prolong the cover. "Ready," I said.   
  
Snape had meanwhile noticed the small group. His face twisted in an expression of resign, he muttered, "Just a moment. They are all here, of course." He strode forward, calling out to the group, "Amanda?" One of the girls turned, a calm and imperious look on her face. When she saw me, an odd twist of her mouth greeted me. I heard rustling, and saw the other people wearing similar expressions of self-satisfaction and now added puzzlement.   
  
Snape stood before them, blocking me. "What are you all doing about? I should take ten points from you all. Especially you, Amanda. As a prefect, you should have your charges safe in the Slytherin common rooms right now."

The girl he addressed stepped forward and answered, "Forgive us, Professor. We heard the news about the Gryffindor, and that it was safe now. A small smile lit up her face. "We just wanted to see for ourselves what was going on. Purely for easing the minds of the other, less informed students."

Snape didn't seem impressed with their knowledge. "Word travels fast, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Sir. We were just waiting for you, to see if it were true." She dropped her eyes in an appropriate display of shame. "I know it was against the rules, sir. I'm very sorry."

Snape snorted. "I bet you are. Now get back to your rooms." At that, all the Slytherins looked disappointed, but the stern glance Snape gave them kept them at bay. I received many curious glances though, and one student looked so hard that Snape called out, "Move faster, Mr. Malfoy." The boy then looked up and, seeing his Head of House's glare, turned and quickly caught up with his peers.

Snape turned, about to place a hand on my shoulder before remembering that I apparently carried some plague. I glowered on the inside. I did carry a plague, for all that I knew. I doubted it, though. But I was carrying something - something not too long ago. I must have dropped it. I frowned, trying to stand still, to feel the curves and textures of a memory that would not come through. As if on cue, I was given a short push, and all thought escaped. I faced Snape, but he said nothing. He simply pointed the way, and we began to move slowly down a staircase into darkness.


	4. Chapter 3: The Blame Game

**Chapter 3: The Blame Game**

Gravity seemed to be playing tricks. On the outside, he felt dragged down to the ground, unable for even the slightest inclinations. Yet internally, everything felt airy, risen above comprehension. Rage, grief, frustration, guilt, terror, stabs of pain and waves of trembles that had started low and steady had been violently expelled from him by now. An unsteady voidness now inflated him, keeping him from collapsing within as he leaned over to say goodbye.

Poised above her still form on the bed in the infirmary, he noticed a slight imperfection that he couldn't have in his memory. He knew she would be cold and hard to touch, rigid from death that had filled her being. Even still he bravely reached out and pushed the stray lock out of her face where it had strewn itself across her left cheek. Even matted with dirt and sweat, her hair was still as supple as he had remembered his mother's being, that long time ago when he had curled his fingers round the soft locks while being carried.

His lungs felt on fire - he had to remember to breath. The air around her seemed toxic, for it burned his nostrils, contracted his throat and brought tears to his eyes. She hadn't gone peacefully. No matter what comfort that lie brought his family, he knew it not to be true. Her clothing was torn, her hair ragged and dirty, her posed arms blue from more than death.

A hand clasped his shoulder, and instinctively his muscles contracted. Pulling himself together, he whispered softly, "Goodnight, Ginny." Saying that would be easier on his mother than saying goodbye. It was easier on him, as well.

He backed away, as the hand slid down and his mother came from behind him to stand beside Ginny. In her still form, she reminded him of Penny these past few weeks. His throat constricted again. Yes, Penny was still alive, but she was hurt. And Ginny would never be cured… and he'd done nothing to help prevent either situation. His mind mercilessly battered him about these facts until he felt his mother shaking beside him. She was sobbing quietly. That sight was more disturbing than most things he had seen. Yes, Molly Weasley cried easily, as easily as she laughed and yelled. But one thing she almost never was, was quiet.

Ron was following their mother's suite. He was sitting on the ground, shaking as he blamed himself. It was a sight that tore him apart as well. It embarrassed him and filled him with envy, the ease with which his brother expressed his sorrow. How he just let the others know his feelings so crudely, yet so simply and uncompromisingly. Percy's heart twinged, and his desire to protect his fragile and unseeming family filled a bit of the emptiness.

"Ron, stop." He said it a bit brusquely. He felt too raw to explain to Ron how useless his actions were, too tired to tell him that he needed one of his brothers to be strong with him, to care for everyone else.

Ron glared at him. "I won't stop, you unfeeling prat. Maybe you don't care enough to cry over our sister, but I do, you bloody git!"

"And don't talk like that in front of Mum."

"Oh, right, we must follow the bloody rules all the time, because that's all that's important, right?" But Ron did stand up and reign himself in a bit.

Charlie and Bill arrived just then, stumbling through the narrow door together and followed by Dumbledore. They stood silent for a moment, before sweeping past Percy with a shoulder clasp and solemn nod. They each enveloped Ron in hugs, and gave a few words and shakes to George and Fred, who had been in an uncharacteristic silent freeze since last night. Finally, they turned to Arthur and Molly - and Ginny. Percy told himself he didn't smart at this slight of attention. He knew that outwardly he was in much better condition than the rest of his family. That had been his goal, for him not to be a burden and one more thing for them to think about. It also gave him a sick sort of pleasure, to know that in even the most extreme circumstances he could remain calm. He could hold his own, and not need others. He could remain in control. 

Percy turned away, feeling he should give them privacy even though they were his family. In doing so, he found himself facing Dumbledore. Percy hadn't seen him since last night, when Dumbledore had spent hours with them before leaving to give them privacy with Ginny. He looked awful, much worse than Percy had ever seen him. He was pale and fatigued - and even worse, he appeared uncertain. Straining his memory as hard as he could, Percy could never remember Dumbledore looking like that. He must have looked stricken, for Dumbledore quickly composed himself and smiled at Percy.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired in his gravelly voice.

Percy considered that. It had been a long time since anyone asked him that. His family had gotten so used to his abrupt answer of "fine" each time that they stopped inquiring. "Fine," he finally answered, as the rest of the Weasleys became aware of Dumbledore's presence.

~*~

Albus smiled a gentle smile at Percy's response, in on the family joke. Gently shifting him aside, Albus passed over to where McGonagall stood with the adult Weasleys. He let them raise their eyes to his before he spoke. "Arthor, Molly, I hope I am not intruding." 

Arthur shook his head, his voice trembling slightly. "You're always welcomed, Headmaster."

Albus gave him a gentle smile. "I cannot think of a place I'd rather be than with your family. Though I know there are no words right now, so I will not offer them needlessly." Molly gripped his hand, giving him a watery smile that somehow reminded him of her as one of his pupils countless years ago. Stripped to her core, she was still recognizable. But barely. 

Silence came again, and Albus let it. He waited until he had something more to offer than his presence. Molly was fingering Ginny's red and gold striped tie. Sparked, Albus quietly offered, "As you know, Ginny displayed remarkable qualities befitting a Gryffindor. I wish she had gone for help -"

"But she did go for help," Ron burst in. A bit bitterly at himself he added, "She went to that Tom." 

Tom Riddle. Albus had, of course, told the Weasleys about Ginny's demise, and said that Tom was unavailable for them to thank. It would have been useless not to, since Ron knew the story. He didn't know how much history Arthur and Molly knew of the Chamber, and of Riddle. He was almost positive they didn't connect young Riddle with Voldemort, but he certainly didn't want them focusing on either notion or drawing connections. But it wasn't right to brush past Ron's comment either.

Instead, Albus walked over and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. Nothing needed to be said. 

Arthur gave him a weak smile. The man looked green, and the only way he and Molly were still standing was by holding each other up. Yet his voice didn't waver, and his hand still caressed his daughter. "Thank you, Albus. We will take her with us, immediately. The funeral should be tomorrow, or - or the day after."

Albus then went and clasped Arthur's hand that rested on Ginny. It was solid and dry, a comforting touch. "Never fear. Make the arrangements suitable for you. Until then, perhaps your family," he gestured behind him, to the Weasley children, "would go home with you?"

Molly nodded firmly. "We already thought that. If they can just pack up, now -"

"I think I should stay here." Percy's voice cut through, like a scalpel. All eyes snapped down on him. Albus saw his hands clenched, either from tension or to quell fear. He looked nauseous and his eyes were locked on Ginny. 

"What the -" Every one of the Weasley children began to barge down on him when Molly overtook them all. 

"Silence!" Her brood calmed only in vocal terms. "Percy, what in blazes are you talking about?" 

Percy didn't stir. "Not for the funeral, of course," he answered. "But until then, I think I should stay here. I can be more use here, to get Ron's and Fred and George's work, and to help smooth things here. Or help Professor Sprout with the Mandrake potions to cure the petrification."

"Work?" The twins finally stirred. Fred turned to George and asked scathingly, "Are we really sure he's not one of those House Elves, with the attention he gives to work?"

"Nah," George answered. "He doesn't have enough heart. Could be the Minister, though."

"Percy." Albus drew his gaze away from Ginny.  "Why do you really wish to stay here?"

Nothing came out the first time Percy's mouth opened. Albus was worried he might be having a fit of hysteria, but Percy gained control enough to respond to his brothers' jibes with an air of confidence, "I just don't think I'd be of use at home. I want to stay here." His eyes dropped back to Ginny. "It's not like I'd see her between now and the funeral. I just don't feel I should be there." 

His brothers turned away in disgust, and Albus sighed. He loved the Weasleys, but most of them had the same character flaw. They were too quick to fly off the handle, to give in to anger rather than to think clearly first. Percy was the only one who seemed immune to this trait. And Ginny… Albus hadn't known her well enough to tell about her. But Percy didn't seem anywhere near as confident as his family was, accepting in their hurt and fury. 

Dumbledore turned to Arthur and Molly and said softly, "People react to despair in different ways. If he feels he must be useful, I would let him."

"His family could use him," Molly said angrily, but hushed enough so none of the children overheard. It was even too quiet for Ginny to have heard, had she been able to. 

Albus nodded slowly. "True as that may be, he might feel he is doing something for his family in this. The human being is a complex thing. Sometimes, too frustrating than one is up to figuring out." He knew Arthur and Molly couldn't begin to comprehend any of this right now. But they deferred their judgment to him. Once again, he was a pillar of reason and etiquette for someone. 

"If you think we should let him be, we will," Arthur said. He looked at Percy, with a mixture of confusion and guilt. He obviously didn't understand his son, and therefore felt guilt that some part of that was his fault. Raising his voice, he called, "Boys - those of you coming with us - get your things. We're leaving in fifteen minutes."  

Fred, George and Ron piled out of the room, none looking at Percy. Charlie and Bill stared at him, trying to understand, but gave up in frustration after a few minutes. They followed their younger brothers to help them pack. At the door, Bill paused and looked at Percy until he got a glance. "See you at the funeral," he said carefully. Percy nodded, and Bill disappeared out the door. 

Taking a deep breath, Percy turned back to face his parents. They were silent for a moment, before Arthur started pushing the magicked floating bed toward the door. Pausing next to Percy, he took a deep breath and said, "Owl us if you need anything."

"Or if you change your mind." Molly looked like she said that harsher than she had planned. Percy blanched but was immobile, even when his mother added with greater gentleness, "And… we love you."

Percy had trouble forcing himself to look at them, apparently. His gaze kept returning to the bland floor pattern. "Love you, too." His parents started toward the door, when Percy rang out, "And …"

They turned, expectantly. Percy only went slightly red, and finished, "And - I'll take care of things here." An unsure moment past, before the Weasleys simply nodded and left. Left alone with Albus, it was evident the boy was turning into his own private thoughts.

~*~

He didn't deserve their saying they loved him. Much, in the same way, he felt they didn't deserve his. Percy felt ashamed. He had almost lost it back there. But seeing his sister, his only little sister, lying there from a courage he didn't know even existed within him, and listening to Dumbledore praise her and lament her - he simply couldn't take it.  He would not have been able to hold it together back at the house, with his family around constantly. The altruistic part didn't want to burden his family with himself. The selfish part didn't, couldn't, give them the support they needed. He didn't have it in him - he hadn't the resolve to find it right then. And that made him lower than anything he could imagine. Lower than Voldemort, even. 

And the other part of him felt anger. Unwarranted anger, but anger nonetheless that gripped him from head to toe. He couldn't give support, but he needed it desperately. Even though he couldn't say so, even though he knew he hadn't shown it, had told himself he hadn't wanted his family to pick up on it, part of him wanted it nonetheless. When had he become so disconnected, so good at distancing himself, that his family could no longer read him? Did they even try anymore? 

Percy was so wrapped in his thoughts that he almost missed Dumbledore and McGonagall approaching him. 

Before they said anything, he said quickly, "I should get to class, then." He couldn't sit by Penny until he'd done some good.

McGonagall shook her head. "I don't think that would be the most prudent idea at the moment." 

He turned to Dumbledore. "Sir, I can't just go to my room." 

Dumbledore eyed him thoughtfully. "You do not think it would be best if you managed some rest? I doubt classes would be useful to you right now."

Percy shook his head rapidly. "I'm not - I couldn't sleep, sir. I know I couldn't." Dumbledore looked at McGonagall and sighed. Just then a house-elf entered the infirmary carrying a small envelope in her dusty hands. Dumbledore took it and, with a small frown, pulled McGonagall over to read it. 

After a few minutes of silence, in which Percy did Arithmacy problems in his head to calm and focus himself, Dumbledore and McGonagall stepped back over to him. Neither looked pleased.

McGonagall spoke. "Percy, there is something that you can do to be…useful. If you are sure you're up to it. It shouldn't take long."

Percy longed to stop feeling so utterly futile and undeserving of being a Gryffindor. "Anything," he replied with firmer confidence than he could feel. 

McGonagall sighed, and then waved Dumbledore to continue. He said seriously, "Percy, several members of the Ministry are meeting here soon. I will require certain members of the faculty to be present at that meeting. What I would like from you is - to look after someone."

Percy was puzzled. "Look after someone, sir?"

Dumbledore had that uncertain look about him again, but he continued on with the assurance that always befitted him. "Tom Riddle, actually. You see, Lockhart Obliviated his memory not long ago - yes, I know. Anyway, perhaps you could take him to your classes, so professors would be present - yes, that seems better. Take him with you to classes or the Great Hall, where there will be other people. Show him about a bit. Try not to overload him with information, it will just frustrate him. Simply the basics, and be sensitive to the situation. That should not be too strenuous on either of you, hopefully." Dumbledore's thoughtful tone led Percy to believe that, as usual, there was far more going on in the Headmaster's mind than he was telling.

~*~

And, indeed, Albus was musing. Percy was a capable wizard, he knew. One of the finest students at the moment in ability and experience. Percy also needed something to distract his mind, and Albus knew he would focus in on any task given with a fierce attention to detail. If anything seemed amiss, Percy would report it. And in the presence of the other professors, there was a lesser risk. As much as there could be, until the Ministry and teachers figured out what to do next. 

The Ministry had already reinstated him, and was planning on meeting with him now to discuss Riddle. And Hagrid - he must see to Hagrid. Too much to do all at the same moment. He glanced at McGonagall and saw her nod. However reluctant, in the bind they were in this seemed like the best option. And, Albus told himself, Percy was a Gryffindor. The thought was comforting. 

Albus looked for Percy's response to his proposal.

Percy nodded solemnly. Pure determination coupled with the haunting memory of his sister would drive him to do exactly what Albus needed of him. And, hopefully help him, along the way. 

Dumbledore pulled himself up and said, "Well, see Professor Snape. Tom is with him. And please tell Professor Snape to join me in my office." Percy nodded and began heading for the door. A stab of fear caught Albus and he couldn't help but call out the warning as innocuously as he could, "And do not give any credence to whatever Tom says. In his state, he does not know what he's saying, so try not to take any of it too seriously. And, let me know afterward if anything is amiss, and how he is doing. Understand?"

Percy gave no indication that anything was strange about his orders. In retrospect, the orders made sense in dealing with someone who had just lost their memory after all, Dark Lord or not. But he wasn't a Dark Lord, Dumbledore reminded himself. Tom wasn't Voldemort. Not yet.

~*~

Percy had never been to Snape's private rooms before. He only knew how to get there by asking the Bloody Baron, who was in a good enough humor to tell him since the scare of the Chamber was over. It was difficult to walk down the halls. The glances that people shot over his head, the whispers he heard floating around him and through him put him on edge. He wanted to shout at them, to get them to crawl into a hole that wouldn't keep smacking him in the face with the obviousness of his loss. He had walked these halls for over five years now, Ginny had for only a few months. And yet now, she haunted every step. And the other students weren't letting her spirit rest any easier around him. 

Snape's rooms were in the dungeon as well. The whole bottom of the castle seemed to be Slytherin territory, what with Snape's quarters, the Slytherin common rooms, and the Potions classroom. 

Percy walked silently around the twisting undergrounds until he came upon the door that led to Snape's rooms. It had the same wood and iron latches that the rest of the doors of the castle had. However, the small sign next to it reading Professor Severus Snape made it much less welcoming.

Taking a deep breath, Percy raised his hand and knocked. Inside, he heard a slight rustling but he couldn't make out the noise. In a few moments the door was flung open and Snape appeared. His hair was as oily as every, and had stiffened into odd angles. His clothing was rumpled enough to make one suspect that they hadn't been changed from the other day. His shadowed eyes gave a guarded glare at Percy.

He proceeded to stand in the doorway, blocking the room as Percy explained in detail Dumbledore's orders. By his look it was hard to discern whether he agreed with Dumbledore's logic or not, but in the end he just gruffly told Percy to wait, before slamming the door. 

Percy stood there, chafing a bit. He had respect for Snape's abilities in Potions, but the man often showed pettiness and the emotional maturity of a toddler. Percy had had to fight tooth and nail to receive his strong marks in potions for the simple reason that he was not a Slytherin. He had finally through the years earned a modicum of grudging respect from Snape for his abilities. However, it had been a long haul, and Percy was convinced that Snape would take great pleasure in seeing him slip up somewhere.  That had only inspired Percy to devote even more energy into perfecting his performance in Potions, though he doubted that Snape had been trying for the role of motivator. 

Finally, the door opened again. This time, Percy could faintly see the bearings of a person standing behind Snape. He craned his neck, but Snape blocked him. Leaning down, he hissed quietly, "Be mindful of what Dumbledore said. Understand?" 

Percy nodded and replied, "Yes, sir." There was a beat where they stood staring each other down, before Snape reluctantly moved past them saying, "Very well. Follow me to the Great Hall. I will leave you two there." And after he had swished by, Percy got his first look at Tom Riddle. 

Age was hard to discern at times. The figure before him was tall, but had the smooth features of one about Percy's own age. Yet his eyes seemed much older, clouded and impenetrable. In stance he was coiled, arms drawn in protectively and on guard should someone break the imaginary barrier surrounding him. It made sense, considering what he had been through. Percy almost smiled at that. His mother would be proud of him for having empathy at this moment. Percy couldn't give himself that much credit. The empathy must be a defense mechanism, for him not to think about Ginny. Maybe it was heartless to think of others at a time when he should be consumed with his own grief. He couldn't say with confidence where he stood. 

Snape was standing impatiently over them. Realizing his haste, Percy hurriedly stuck out his hand in formal greeting. "Nice to meet you. I'm Percy Weasley."

At the mention of his last name, Tom visibly perked. Unlike Snape, Tom seemed to have a natural grace in his bearing, and sensitivity for the situation. "Was the girl your sister? I'm very sorry about your loss. She was well-respected, from what I have heard since then."

Percy nodded, struggling not to choke. "And I wanted to thank you, as well."

Tom looked a bit confused for a second. "For what?"

"For going around with him to keep his mind off the sorrowful day," Snape butted in smoothly.  Percy immediately picked up that Ginny was a topic off-limits for now. They probably didn't want to rattle poor Tom, he thought a bit scathingly. It might have been for his own well-being too, but Percy didn't see how he could keep his thoughts off of her. 

"Well, we should be going. Some class must be starting soon," Snape said in the same brisk voice he used when unsettled. He motioned for Tom and Percy to lead, and followed close behind them. 

Percy swallowed as the started up the dank, moist stairs to civilization as he knew it. It was hard to think of things to converse about with Snape there. The man's mere presence put everyone Percy knew on edge. He was practically salivating with curiosity about Tom. What was it like, to have one's memory obliterated? What was he going to do now? Did he remember anything at all? Percy knew these questions couldn't really be asked in all polite sensitivity, but they clouded his thoughts and prevented shallower inquiries from rising. 

~*~

I didn't really know what to make of the Weasley beside me. He seemed an odd mixture of composure and unbridled emotion. It was understandable, I supposed. However, feeling unsure, I decided to let him lead the conversation for awhile.

I heard Snape's rhythmic steps behind us. The other night had been one of discomfort, mostly for him. I did not take it personally, for the man seemed ill at ease with any company. He was brusque and awkward even with the servant, whom he called a house-elf, who had brought food in. Neither one of us had slept much, if at all. Snape had stayed in his chair beside a small, littered desk while I had been placed on an old red couch. It had been ugly and smelled of dust undisturbed for years, but it served it purpose. I had been too terrified to sleep. The mere thought of losing what little consciousness I maintained now was enough to keep my eyes firmly open though burning. And Snape had sat there, making each of us aware of every breath we took and shift we made. Neither one of us seemed willing to be the first to give in, so an unfettered silence had reigned. 

It must have been part of the man's character to leave others speechless, for now Percy had joined our silence. Or else, Percy was just like us in that respect. Either way, I would find out soon, for we had apparently reached the Great Hall. It had to be, for those were the only words that came to mind upon staring into the enormous space with a clear sky above and warmly decorated tables buzzing. 

After giving us a curt farewell, Snape took off down a left corridor. Percy and I were left staring at each other. Finally remembering that he was the host, Percy offered, "Would you like to eat something? We probably have whatever you could want."

I shrugged. "Not really. You can eat if you want." Percy squinted momentarily. It was an interesting moment, where one could almost feel the tense struggle in the admittance of hunger and the weakness implicit within it. 

Finally Percy shrugged as well. "I couldn't be less hungry." 

"Well, the Great Hall seems a pretty futile destination for us then."  

Looking at a hanging clock, Percy thought for a moment than offered, "The alternative is sitting through Charms." I gave a minute shrug and we heading to the classrooms. Percy added, "It can be fairly entertaining. Flitwick is good, even though some of the kids don't make any effort at all." He sounded as if that were unfathomable to do.

"Are they particularly good at magic?" I asked. He paused a moment as if struggling between tact and honesty before shaking his head. I smiled and added, "Then perhaps its good they don't try it that often."

Percy smiled back and admitted, "I have thought that on occasion."

We rounded a corner and ran into several of the students I had seen the night before. They wore smooth black robes that bore the same Slytherin markings that Snape 's had had. The boy with the pale hair that Snape had called Malfoy was speaking. His tone carried a swagger and his delicate, pointy face was drawn in a scowl. "It would be a stupid Gryffindor to try to go play heroics and get themselves killed without really accomplishing anything. How common."  

I stepped aside to study Percy's face as rage overtook it. Barely reigned in through clenched teeth he spat, "Try saying that to my face, Malfoy."

Malfoy turned slowly as if in complete disinterest. Upon seeing Percy and I he raised an eyebrow and said calmly, "I think you heard me, Weasel. Nice, that you're here to defend her now. Bet you she wishes you or one of your kennel was there when she was dying." He stared at Percy's face, a sneer drawing up his lips. He kept a loose hand on his wand, and I thought he stood a good chance of needing to use it when a voice broke the moment. 

"Draco, I hope we are playing nicely with the children." The lackadaisical drawl spun me round to see a tall man with features similar to Draco. His perfectly straight hair reached classy black robes tailored to an imposing figure. I caught my breath as his cool gaze paused to rest on me alone. 


	5. Chapter 4: Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat

Chapter 4: Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat

Confidence exuded magnetism, at least in the case of Lucius Malfoy. In one fluid motion he swept his cloak aside and extended his hand. "Lucius Malfoy. And you are?"

I took his hand in mine. "Tom, sir," I said.

Energy seemed to run from his eyes and through his veins into our handshake. His voice rolled over the one syllable of my name. "Tom." We stood like that, transfixed, until a smile more genuine and satisfied spread across his pale face. "And sir? Well...aren't you a polite boy." Leaning across a bit, he studied me with an intensity that seemed completely natural for him. I refused to jerk back. After a moment he released my hand and stroked the silver snake that studded his walking cane. Thoughtfully, he drawled, "So polite to his elders. That shows good character. Do you know my son Draco?"

He motioned over the boy who had insulted Percy. Percy visibly recoiled from him as Draco posed himself in front of his father, with Lucius's hand resting on his shoulder.

I shook my head. "I haven't met many people yet." I nodded to Draco civilly, for neither of us offered a hand to shake. "Nice to meet you."

One raised eyebrow conveyed wonder on Lucius. "Don't know many people yet? Oh, are you new, son? I should have surmised, since you didn't look familiar. You picked a hellish time come here. Have you heard what's happened?"

Cautiously I shook my head no. Lucius tisked and squeezed Draco's shoulder. "Well, don't concern worry. Things have righted themselves out, to my understanding. And I'm sure Draco would be more than happy to fill you in, and show you about."

"I already have a guide for now, thank you." I motioned to Percy, who was still glaring at the Malfoys unabashedly.

I imagined a sneer was never more sophisticated than on Lucius as he turned his gaze upon Percy. "You?" He brazenly looked him over. "You have the markings of a Weasely all over you." I saw Percy's face burn red as he glanced down at himself. Lucius continued relentlessly, reaching out to trace Percy's prefect badge with his cane. "Am I right? Terrible tragedy, about your sister. The school needs better security. I tried to suggest some new guidelines long ago, but your Headmaster would have none of it. Not that details need to be spilled over now." His eyes never leaving Percy's, he added, "I would think you would want to be with your family on a day like today. Family is so important, don't you agree?" At that his gaze came to rest on me.

I was growing tired of his smugness. However, judging from his imposing stance and well-made aura, I felt I shouldn't dismiss or reject him just yet. Neutrally, I offered, "You make such a view sound convincing, sir."

At that Lucius's smile broadened. Had he not been so composed he might have laughed, it seemed. "Well said. Such respect. Where did you say you came from?"

I smiled back. "I didn't say." I knew I was stalling. But having so little memory made even the knowledge of my ignorance seem too powerful to divulge to anyone. Fortunately I didn't have to search for a way to avoid his questioning anymore.

"So nice of you to take an interest in the students, Lucius. But I don't recall you being requested to come today." The new voice made all of us pause and strain to see who it was. Behind Lucius, an elderly man also dressed in fine robes approached. Percy leaned over to me and whispered, "Cornelius Fudge. The Minister of Magic." His tone conveyed to me the weight of the title Fudge held.

Lucius didn't bat an eye. He only pressed his son's shoulder harder and replied, "After hearing the dreadful news about Arthur's family, I came over to check on the children, of course. My son's safety, as the safety of all the students, concerns me greatly." He turned back to me and smiled. "Even students with whom I am not yet acquainted." I smiled back in seeming appreciation.

"Ah, yes." Fudge turned to Percy, who steeled himself for the coming comfort. "I am ever so sorry about your loss."

"Thank you, sir," Percy responded properly. Catching my eye, he added, "And now if you'll excuse us, I have some business to attend to. I'm showing a new student around."

Fudge looked confused. "New student?"

I offered my hand and gave him a slight smile. "Tom, sir. And we should be going. We don't want to keep you waiting." I glanced over at Lucius and nodded formally to his expressionless face. "Pleasure to meet you." And with a final nod, we calmly left the hallway. I could see Percy straining his ears as well to make sure no one was following.

Once we were in the clear Percy's shoulders visibly sagged as he let out a ragged breath. "Sorry for dragging you off like that."

I shrugged. "That's perfectly all right. I wasn't quite enjoying being interrogated. At least, that's what it felt like."

Percy smiled bitterly at that. "Don't take it personally. Malfoy does it to everyone new. He meets them, stares right through them, badgers them until he feels he knows everything about them, which can take anywhere from two seconds to years, and once he feels he has something to lord over you, he resorts to just using you or abusing you."

I smiled at the speed and dryness of his assertions. "Is that a fact?"

"I'm afraid I've come to find it so. Our families have a history together." We paused right outside a doorway. Inside, some class was going on, with a little creature standing on a tower of books leading the lecture.

I was far more interested in learning about the intricate interactions I had just witnessed. I absorbed every sound I heard, processed it over and again until it made sense. The pallid Malfoy, smug with confidence and brimming with channeled energy. The morose Minister, the feud between Percy, Draco, and their families, I replayed it all. It filled a little of the insecurity I felt, to know something about others that they had no knowledge of that I knew.

Unfortunately, the small professor noticed us and waved us in immediately. As we entered, the entire room hushed and followed us with leering eyes as we made our way around the winding desks. Percy seemed to hesitate as if to go to the front of the classroom. I gently yet consistently headed to the back, and after a moment he followed. When he looked up at me I met him with eager eyes and grin. "Perhaps we can talk for a bit.......if this class is as boring as you say."

***

"Are you mad?" Snape's dark tone and twisted contour made his statement rhetorical. The sentiment, however, was clearly shared and needed explaining. Lucius breathed deeply and took note of the unbridled energy around him.

They all were crammed into Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster himself sat behind the large, cluttered desk. How the man could focus in such a state of messiness and confusion, Lucius would never know. 

Severus stood beside the desk, upright and rigid as always. His arms were folded across his chest. They always were when he was on edge, which happened to be most of the time. Lucius felt a smile twist out of him. Oh, how well he knew Severus. He'd never trusted the traitor, not even in their old school days. At one point Snape had lusted after Narcissa, and what a lark that had been to watch. But by now, Lucius really didn't think on that pathetic residues of Snape's crush, for that coupled with his genuine love for the Slytherin house kept Draco as Severus' favorite. Still, the preferential treatment of his son and his hatred of Potter kept his old humorous memories of Severus alive. As much as Lucius hated the Gryffindors he attended Hogwarts with, he and his mates had always secretly delighted in the misery they'd made of Severus's life. Not that Severus hadn't deserved it. He'd be the one of the first to go. Right after the exalted Headmaster himself.

At that pleasing thought, Lucius' mind came back to examine the reality around him. Standing a little off from Severus was Minerva. Her face was as tight as that bun she always wore. Lucius imagined her frown lines had already come in when she was born. It was sad, really, when one thought about how strong and superior she seemed at times. Now her face was tense not from superiority, but from genuine fear. He could smell it in all of them, and trembled with the excitement it unleashed within him. Amazing, what one little book could do. One little book, played out by his hand.

Fudge stood next to him. It was an amusing picture of a standoff, with him and Fudge standing opposite Severus and Minerva. And Dumbledore in the middle, even symbolically acting as judge. Fudge kept glancing at him, and all comments made were at least in part directed at the Headmaster. Lucius knew that Dumbledore's position would weigh the heaviest. Fudge was too weak, too prone to tunnel-envisioning an ideal situation that upheld his status quo. No, the key was to keep focused on where the power lay, much as it burned.

An appropriate amount of time had passed since Snape questioned his sanity. Lucius smiled thinly. "What then is to be done, Severus? Do we send the boy to Azkaban?" Severus looked as though such an outcome would not leave him drowning in guilt. But Lucius knew he would not make a stand like that. He was too feeble before Dumbledore. Turning, Lucius then opened his address to all, meeting each gaze head-on. "Well, shall we?"

"Do remind me again why you are here?" Snape's voice spewed like venom.

Lucius kept his compose and wagged his cane in Snape's direction. "Ignoring the issue at hand is no way to deal with this."

"No, I'd quite like to know as well, Lucius." McGonagall's voice now carried the same thinly veiled dislike. Her effort to put him beneath her high heel was as admirable as it was futile.

Knowing where Dumbledore would stand on the issue, Lucius did not even waste the resources in looking at him. "I am not only a parent at this school, but I am one of its chief contributors in donations. I think I have a say, on behalf of all the parents and community, when children's lives are at risk. How many were petrified by that beast none of you caught?" He waited for the glimmer of guilt to sweep through their beings before he continued. "As both a concerned parent and Ministry member, I think it best to have someone here who can represent both."

"This isn't solving anything," Fudge cut in. Walking over he stood before Dumbledore's desk. "Albus, we have one dead already, four petrified students here--"

"And a cat," Lucius added.

"The Ministry can't take this kind of upheaval without something being done about it!" Fudge added, with some conviction to Lucius's surprise.

"Do not think I am unaware of the severity of the situation." Dumbledore's low unfolding of words wrapped everyone still. A deadly anchoring weight emanated from him. Even Lucius felt himself drawn up, his heartbeat rising. As much as he hated to admit it, as much as it raised bile to sear every ounce of him, there were moments like this when Dumbledore's mere presence radiated his power.

"Yes, Cornelius, four students were petrified, as well as one ghost and Mrs. Norris. And according to Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey, the Mandrake potion will soon be completed to combat the petrification. And as for Ginny Weasley," at that his voice dropped, letting a moment of pain wash over him unabashedly. "Nobody regrets that more than I. I shall always question if there was something that could have been done to prevent her passing, without negating the fact that the bravery of her act might very well have saved lives."

"Or brought about the apocalypse," Snape added darkly.

"Indeed, Albus. The presence of Tom Riddle here is far too great a risk to the children." Minerva planted her position firmly next to Severus's. "Who knows how he got here. It could be Voldemort himself that somehow managed this."

_~Or someone who falls between the Dark Lord and a silly girl, for now~_ Lucius mentally smirked to himself.

"Oh, I very highly doubt that Tom came to be here the way he is claiming he did," Dumbledore said quietly. "I am almost as convinced that Voldemort right now isn't strong enough to bring back this great a manifestation of himself. Nor are any of his followers." Dumbledore's eyes rested on Lucius for a second before he continued. "I believe it was a combination of factors, some that I would like to address with you all now." Without looking down, he placed onto his desk a small, wizened book. Glaring out from the soft, bland binding was the gold inscription of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Severus's arms dropped, and both he, Minerva and Fudge leaned over as if spellbound. Playing along, Lucius craned his neck at the folds and crevices that he had committed to wondering memory so long ago.

"What is this, Albus?" Minerva asked, her voice hushed.

Albus leaned back, bringing his steepled fingers beneath his chin. "I believe it is a diary, Minerva. A diary that Tom himself made all those years ago, when he was at Hogwarts."

Lucius leaned over and flipped through the pages. Glancing up, he gave a shrug and raised eyebrow at Dumbledore. "It doesn't appear as though he did much with it. It's blank."

Giving one of his infuriating smiles, Dumbledore said, "It is enchanted."

Lucius felt the smile freeze on his face. "What do you mean?" He asked calmly, carefully.

His wizened voice calm and thoughtful, Dumbledore said, "This Tom claims that he was raised from the diary by Ginny's goodwill. While I do question part of his explanation, I believe that this diary was intended for exactly that purpose. Things similar to this have been tried in the past, though never quite so ingeniously...nor ones that have actually worked." He seemed both saddened and happy. Content with the potential he remembered, and sorrow over how it had manifested itself.

"And, why?" Lucius couldn't resist asking. The man's insight was frightening at times. As careful and ever-present as Voldemort's himself.

"Tom obviously desired to preserve something about himself at that point in his life. Such a strange coincidence that the Chamber opening was precisely at this time, when he was sixteen." Dumbledore didn't bother with subtlety there, and he seemed to have a reason for that that Lucius couldn't quite explain. Once again being unable to comprehend the Headmaster frustrated Lucius beyond belief, though he remained quiet as the others responded.

"You mean Tom opened the Chamber?" Snape's eyes grew wide.

Dumbledore nodded. "I believe so. Harry informed me that he opened it by means of which only Tom would also be capable of doing, to my knowledge. Or, he instructed Ginny." His eyes rested on Fudge. "Which would mean Tom Riddle is the heir of Slytherin. Much more reasonable than Hagrid, do you agree?"

Fudge, looking ashamed, nodded. "I already ordered his release papers, Albus. He should be here by this afternoon."

"If Tom is the heir of Slytherin, that means he already has killed one girl. Not as Voldemort, but as Tom, back when he was in school." Snape cut in. "That's grounds enough for punishment."

"Take your guilt out on someone else, Severus. The circumstances surrounding both girls' deaths aren't that clear-cut. The first one was in the bathroom when she saw the snake. For all we know, Tom was as surprised by her being there and couldn't stop the beast in time." Lucius offered diplomatically.

"You seem to know an awful lot about it, Malfoy," Snape batted back scathingly.

Lucius shrugged. "History is a passion of mine. But back to the issue at hand. I would say ask him, but he doesn't even remember it, does he? Isn't there a law against charging someone for a crime they don't even know they committed? They don't put them in Azkaban."

"Yes, they are put someplace else. It's called an asylum," Minerva stepped in. Glaring at Lucius she said in a tone mirroring his, "Is that what you are suggesting?"

Raising a hand, Dumbledore drew the focus back to him. "Whatever Tom's intentions were, the Obliviation does have to be considered. I trust the truth serum Severus used. I have seen people under its influence, and without an obvious counter-potion that Tom was not in possession of, it always works. It has even worked on me in the past." At that, every head spun up. It was hard to conceive of a moment when Albus was overtaken. The thought made the corner's of Lucius's mouth twitch.

Dumbledore ignored the startled looks and carried on. "Azkaban would not be a fair punishment." Raising his hand to stop protests before they even began, he continued, "Right now, without his own wand and memory, he is not a threat." Then he sighed and admitted the catch that was looming in everyone's mind. "Though for how long the spell will work, I am not sure. Lockheart, to his credit, is an excellent charmer. Even without his own memory, it is an innate gift of his. If it were anyone other than Tom, I would not be surprise if, without treatment, their memory never came back."

Looking around, Dumbledore stated the obvious. "But it is Tom. And even at sixteen, without his memory back, it is a serious threat that cannot be dealt with flippantly. I believe Tom captured himself at precisely that time in his life not only so he could reopen the Chamber later, but to keep a specific version of himself intact. He was at a crossroads here, before his serious transformations took place."

_~Oh, please~_ Lucius thought.

"Oh, please," Snape burst out. "I think you are being too optimistic Sir. He started that diary with the specific intention of reopening the chamber."

"Severus, do you comprehend what Tom must have done to himself to become Voldemort?" That question shut Snape up. Dumbledore rose, steadily walking toward him. "Do you have any conception of the amount of magic he used on himself, the torture those transformations must have caused? And the risks of them succeeding? Tom knew the risks. And he wasn't unintelligent." Albus gave a strange smile at that. "Oh, no, Tom was always very careful to cover all of his bases. What finer way to ensure your future that to preserve an outlet for what might have been? If Ginny had opened the diary and written that a wizard named Voldemort had long ago disabled himself from some transformation or other, he would know to try another way. And I doubt he much likes what has happened of late."

"His intentions, sir, would still be the same. If anything, he would just look for other ways to gain power, and get revenge on Potter." Snape wasn't argumentative anymore. His anger subsided, he looked at Dumbledore simply with the clarity of his position.

"Perhaps it would be best to send him to an asylum, Albus," Minerva cut in quietly.

There was silence for a moment. Ideally, if Tom was out of Dumbledore's reach, it would be easier for Lucius. A perverse pleasure was felt by Lucius of the thought of him training Voldemort, teaching him about his past. Of him in turn instructing the young Voldemort on his means and ways, as had been the reverse not so long ago. Of him placing his mark of permanence and influence on the man who had cultured his hate and still instilled him with fear.

But it was a lost cause. If Tom was moved to an asylum, all of his visits to him would be noted. Dumbledore, the newspapers, and the Ministry would have a field day with that. At least at Hogwarts, he could visit under the coverage of checking up on his son and the school. And Draco could keep him informed on the goings on while he was away. The child might start being useful, as Lucius had trained him to be.

Making up his mind grudgingly, Lucius said, "I think he should remain here." Meeting every shocked glance, Lucius added smoothly, "If he is to regain his memory, who better to control that than Albus? No one but he has ever been able to stand up to You Know Who. If you want to control and shape this Tom differently, and not have him as before, than it only sounds reasonable Albus should do it." Lucius wisely decided not to add that it was he who planned on reaching Tom first.

"I do not wish to control anyone, Lucius," Dumbledore's voice carried disapproval. "Yet I do agree that Tom should remain here. Although I never realized that you were such a fan of mine." Sighing, he turned to Fudge. 

Fudge, looking disheveled, said, "If he is here he is away from the media. Having the press be informed of what exactly happened might cause even more unrest and prompt acts of violence from Voldemort's supporters." Glancing quickly at Lucius, he hurriedly finished, "I think Lucius makes good points."

The lack of argument hardly implied universal agreement, but it was enough. Dumbledore, almost staring into space, said, "If that is what is decided, we will make do. It is not an unexpected decision." Softer, even more to something other than this room, he whispered, "Maybe things happen for a reason, and it is left for us to sort it out. Maybe things can be different."

He looked up into the solemn expressions that marked each face. Clearing his throat, he said, "During the night he will stay with you, Severus. I trust that not to be a problem." Snape shook his head, with greasy locks slapping his sallow cheeks. Despite his protestations, he would follow Dumbledore's lead.

Dumbledore continued. "During the day, he will work with Minerva, myself, or Severus. At all other times, which should not account for much, he will be accompanied by Percy as he is now."

"Are you sure that's a wise choice, Albus?" Lucius questioned, with a hint of distaste making it evident in his mind it was anything but wise.

"Percy is our most accomplished student here. Besides that, and more importantly, I have seen him act. I trust him." Dumbledore spoke with a finality that possibly only Minerva shared.

_~Percy's a Gryffindor~_ Lucius remembered. He shook his head, smiling. The old man hadn't changed. He was still guilty of the same prejudices, idealistic notions and narrow thinking that steered students like Tom away from him in the past. Lucius felt in no danger of which way Tom would follow this time either.

Smiling, Lucius tipped his cane at them. "If the meeting is done then, please excuse me. I must have a word with my son." And another meeting with his master.

***

Percy heaved a huge sigh as he sank down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He had been fending off well-wishers and consolers all morning. At the other end, he had had to deal with the disapproving looks of some for having the audacity to not be in a comatose state of grief. He might as well have bee, though. None of his classes had covered anything, whether because of Tom or Ginny or whatever he didn't know. All he did know was that he had a terrible headache, felt nauseous, exhausted, completely underwater, and wanted to hex anyone around him. The only consolation was that Tom appeared the same. Desiring company in misery was a nasty but entirely true part of existing.

"Hello, Percy." The voices made him groan internally. He glanced over to see Harry and Oliver Wood standing hesitantly beside him. He couldn't take the pity from them right now.

This was one of the only times since first year potions class that Percy had seen Oliver look uncomfortable. They were friends of sorts, each understanding the other's unending focus and determination, Percy for school and Oliver for Quidditch. It was a sometimes exasperating but often beneficial friendship, each trying to get the other to focus on the other's priority. A happy medium was seldom met, but that was part of the fun. It had become a ritual for Oliver to throw the quaffle he kept in his room at Percy to distract him during finals, with Percy dropping schoolbooks on Oliver's game plans before matches.

But no matter how injured Oliver got, which at times was fairly severe, or when Gryffindor lost, Percy never consoled him. Just the same, when Percy had only tied Bill for the amount of OWLS he got, Oliver never offered him futile sympathy. Neither had much use for whining or pity in any form. They couldn't stand it, in fact. So now, to see it creep up on Oliver's face twisted Percy's gut as he desperately tried to push Ginny from his thoughts, and reprimanding himself for doing so at the same time.

"Percy, I just wanted to say--" Oliver began, not meeting his eyes.

"I really don't want to talk about it." Percy said brusquely. He turned back around to see Tom quietly watching them all. "Gryffidors," he informed him.

Oliver paid no attention to the snub. Stubbornly, he stood there until he finished. "Just listen, alright? I just wanted to say that Ginny would have made a great chaser. No, I mean it. She was little and quick, she would have made a nice contrast to the others. She had guts, that's for sure. And she moved nicely. You know, had good balance, that kind of movement. I remember playing with you all when we were kids. And, well, i just wanted you to know that." Percy turned, seeing Oliver had found the courage to meet his eyes. Steadily, he finished. "She would have been great. I'm sorry she couldn't have played on the team. I just wanted to tell you that."

He stood stiffly after that, not sure what to do. Percy gave him a slight smile, taking his remarks as they were meant. "I know that means a lot from you. Thanks." He finished softly. Turning to Harry, he took a deep breath and forced out, "Thanks to you too, I guess. For what you tried."

Harry gave him a small smile. He was one of the few people who hadn't looked at him with repulsion all day. But then he focused on Tom and said, "I really can't take the credit. It was Tom here that did everything."

"Tom?" Oliver suddenly seemed aware that another person existed.

Harry nodded, explaining, "He was the one in the chamber with Ginny. He stopped the Basilisk. Right?"

All focus turned on Tom, who sat there pale, a hand pressed against his forehead. His eyes seemed unfocused. Percy suddenly remembered Snape's orders not to talk about Ginny. Internally he cursed himself. He had been so good at dodging such questions all day, only to have his guard let down in a moment of weakness and pity. He hurriedly raised his voice to change the conversation.

"Tom, are you alright? Do you need to see the nurse?"

Tom's eyes suddenly refocused and snapped onto Harry's. For a moment they locked before sliding over to Oliver then to Percy. "It's nothing, I'm sure. I'm just tired. Very tired. Please excuse me." He pushed back from the table and strode off. Percy caught Oliver's and Harry's puzzled expressions before rising as well. Concerned and cursing himself again, he hastily retreated after his vanishing charge.


	6. Chapter 5: Ghosts of the Past

A/N – Many thanks to Sarah for her wonderful beta-ing. It improved the chapter immensely.

Chapter 5: Ghosts of the Past

The corridors closed in around me as I stumbled through them. My ears were ringing, my vision darkening to mere pinpoints of light before me. Feverish heat swept throughout me as I reached out with a shaky hand to lean against the wall. In doing so, my hand fell through something that felt as frigid as a tub of ice. 

I gasped and pulled my hand back, slinking against the wall as I stared up into the transparent figure floating above me. He was round, bore a nasty grin, and emitted an irritating cackle.

"_Whoo!_ Tommy, fancy having you back here!" The figure swooped to face me upside-down, his eerie features right before mine. I jerked out of reach of his icy grip and he cackled again.

I fought against the thudding of my heart. "You know me, then?" I asked as calmly as I could manage, watching as he rolled upwards with a lazy loop. Memory or not, I wasn't thick enough to miss that he wasn't entirely human. My guard immediately went up, but also my curiosity was piqued. 

At my words his face dropped in mock disparity. "What? You don't _remember_ me? I am _hurt_."

Puzzlement filled me at his words, but again I tried to swallow it down. "I wouldn't take it personally this time," I said, slowly pulling myself up. My gaze wouldn't leave the sight before me, even as my mind was still working through the overwhelming rush of dizzy emotion that swept me up moments before. Thoughts slid into each other, lying on top of one another until I felt an explosion inside was imminent. 

The creature was still blathering away. "No…no, Tommy. This is going to put a serious damper on our relationship. Just when I was going to offer you some delightful insights, the way old friends do. I mean, I know that you were busy what with all the—"

"Peeves!" The voice shot both of us around. Percy was running to meet us, an unsurprisingly stern expression on his face. Stopping before us, he addressed the floating figure with a clipped tone. "Leave him alone, Peeves. Move on." 

Peeves placed a hand over where his heart should have been. "Me? I'm pained, Percy. All I wanted to do was catch up with my old friend here. Poor boy has lost his mind; it must be terrible. I was just trying to help him. You might be interested to learn what I have to say, as well." The look he gave Percy was one of impish glee. "Shall I begin at the beginning? It is such a long story -"

"Peeves, shove off or I'll get the Bloody Baron to figure out a way to make you eligible for the Headless Hunters." Percy's tone brooked no impertinence. 

At that, Peeves sniffed and replied, "Well, you both obviously aren't ready to learn what I have to say. 'Some wizards,' is all I can say." With that, he floated off. Percy seemed to be speaking, but every sense I possessed seemed to sink inside me. Barely realizing I was sagging against the wall, I felt a numbing wash start low within me, driving all focus to my mind. Placing my hands over my aching temples, the words I heard seemed trapped under water, struggling to break through the currents in my thoughts. They were louder but not clearer, until finally with a gasp of frozen air they rang out shrill and echoed inside my mind.

_~I want you to remember! ~ _

"What?" I jerked my head up, feeling the sweat on my face. I saw Percy standing before me, holding onto my shaking wrists. When I opened my eyes he let go of me and stepped back, looking confused and cautious. I eyed him the same way, breathing heavy air into my leaden lungs. "What – did - you say?"

Percy spoke slowly, as if to a child. "I asked if you were alright." 

_Just fine. By the way, is hearing voices common for people? I can't seem to remember_. The scathing words brought nothing but a sickening clench inside. I struggled to keep the terrified shivering from showing to Percy, feeling humiliation well up. "I'll be fine. I just have a headache. Who was that?"

Percy glanced in the direction Peeves had floated off in. "Oh, that's just Peeves, the poltergeist." Watching me, he seemed unsure of how to proceed before brightening and offering, "A poltergeist is -".

"I _know_ what a poltergeist is," I said, a bit annoyed. Perhaps he took comfort in retreating behind his plethora of knowledge, but the condescension he gave off chafed at me.

"You do?" Percy sounded surprised. 

I sank to the floor, leaning against the wall. "It's a ghost." The words floated from somewhere out of me, but they had little meaning.

"Mm-hmm. And do you know what a ghost is?" I opened my eyes to see Percy looking down at me, also clearly annoyed. 

A spark of anger shot through me, mostly because I didn't know. But I certainly wouldn't find anything out with us sniping at each other. "It's a poltergeist," I finally replied. 

Percy smiled at that, and the tension dissipated. He sat down next to me and began to explain in a less authoritative tone. "When some things die, they linger in another form here. That form is a ghost. And a poltergeist is a type of ghost, a noisy and mischievous one. Usually irritating, like Peeves." 

I tried to think through my headache. "So he became a poltergeist instead of a regular ghost. I wonder why?"

Percy shot me a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"What Peeves was like alive, or what happened to make him a poltergeist in death." I stared at him with a touch of incredulity…or perhaps condescension. "Don't you want to know why things are the way they are?"

Percy shrugged, his jaw slightly tight as he looked away from me. "Usually I do. I'm mad about figuring things out, trying to understand them. But Peeves is just an annoying prat most of the time. I hardly ever thought him worth trying to figure out." 

I sighed and leaned my head against the cool stone. The rocky surface was rough and damp, sending chills down my neck. My back ached, but it was already coated with sweat, and I refused to let myself shiver from the stone. "Everything seems worth understanding. Given time, of course. At least from my position." 

I heard him suck in his breath and I cringed, not waiting for the pity. "And don't say you're sorry. I won't appreciate it anymore than you do." Glancing over at him, I saw him flush, confirming that that was precisely what he had been about to do. 

A slight pause came, and then stretched itself out, neither of us willing to say the next thing, since neither of us was sure what should be said. Finally, he awkwardly responded, "Either way I wouldn't listen to Peeves, Tom. I doubt he knows anything worth telling to you. He might not have - no, he _probably_ didn't even know you. Most likely he was listening in on some conversation he shouldn't have been. And if that conversation was too boring, he would embellish it. He just likes to cause trouble." 

"Sounds like a simply wonderful thing to keep around a school. And there was a monster, did he say?" I gave him a disbelieving glance. 

Percy's face visibly tensed. "Who said?"

I closed my eyes, pressing a cold hand to my head as I responded slowly. "The boy with the scar." The thought of him, and the monster, made me feel even queasier and increased the throbbing in my temples. 

****

_~Don't shiver now ~_

The smoothly echoing words slid down my nerves, stimulating each one. The voice caught me, ensnaring my focus as the words wrapped around my consciousness. It was high and more focused this time, not around me but inside. My own thoughts. My heart thudded inside its cage, and the picture of its pulsing blood flooded my vision. 

I gasped, hyperventilating, struggling against what was overtaking me. My eyes rolled back as a directionless brightness blinded my vision. Everything was dark and impenetrable besides the growing light, much as I strived to break through it.

And then, suddenly, it ended, releasing me. I sat there, trembling uncontrollably with my head down. Tiny drops of sweat trickled down my face, neck, and arms, blending with the damp, freezing wall and floor. As the fog cleared and the pain subsided, a shed of manageable light spread inside my mind. A few thoughts pushed through, vague bits that I knew to be true, knew to have come from the very pulsing I felt inside me. I was Tom Riddle…whatever that meant, those words were a part of me. And I had been here before…in this very school. 

"I'm taking you back to Dumbledore." The voice interrupted my thoughts, unwelcome and unwanted. I looked through my fingers up at Percy. He was standing now, his face gravely drawn. Worry was an emotion he seemed to have passed, now staring at me with a hint of fear. He tried to hide it, but I could smell the fear as it was carried across to me. Whether it was for me or  me, I couldn't tell. 

With the wall's support, I raised myself, swaying slightly. A protective, almost instinctive urge to defend myself rose at the sight of Percy, too base or slight to put into words or define. Mustering a smile, I lied, "It's just the headache. It was really sharp for a second, and caught me by surprise." I tried to make my voice as calm as possible. The last thing I needed was to stand out any more at the moment. 

Percy still looked a bit dubious, but finally relaxed. "Still, we should get you back to Dumbledore. He might be able to help with the headache."

"Isn't that the same man who accepts poltergeists and monsters at his school?" I muttered under my breath. 

"What was that?" Percy turned back to me.

I gave a wave. "Nothing. Let's go."

**

Percy kept a careful eye on Tom as he led the way to Dumbledore's office. The other boy had regained some composure and no longer seemed about to keel over. He walked slowly, with every move and muscle controlled. It was a calm attempt to force normalcy, one that Percy had himself been practicing all day. Tom carried it well; if he hadn't seen him almost have a seizure a moment ago, Percy would have bought it completely. 

He also kept a watch out for Peeves, Slytherins, or anything else that might set either one of them off as he took them to the wall that led to Dumbledore's office and chambers. He knew the password to enter as well.  _It was nice, being a prefect_, he thought, but with little enthusiasm at the moment. In silence, they reached the winding staircase elevator that led to Dumbledore's private rooms. Percy saw Tom smirk slightly. "What?"

There was a slight raise of the corner of Tom's mouth as he said,  "Lemon drop?" 

"Oh, the password. It's a type of food."

Tom was busy tracing a design in the wall. "I guessed as much." Looking at Percy's confused face, he explained, "The other night he seemed preoccupied with giving me candy." 

Percy had to laugh a bit at that, even though he felt he had to defend his Headmaster. "Erm…Professor Dumbledore has quite an interest in food. In everything, really. Especially astronomy. Well, anyway, it's just a random word, meant to amuse, I think."

"Hilarious." 

The dry, neutral tone made Percy's head tilt, studying Tom's pale, damp yet expressionless face. It was impossible for Percy to tell by either tone or expression if Tom had meant that or not. Still, another urge to defend his Headmaster rose inside Percy. "Most people think so."

Tom glanced at him then, and offered in a sincere tone, "I don't doubt they do. Take my word for it .How could I not find it creative? I was just wondering how you knew the password?"

Percy hurriedly answered him as the door approached above. "I'm a Prefect."

"I see. A nice privilege," was Tom's simple reply, leaving Percy unsure if Tom knew what a Prefect really was or not.

 "It's a responsibility, more than anything," Percy replied, sounding a bit stiffer than he'd have liked.

The staircase finally ended, leaving them before a door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. At this sight, Tom turned to Percy and said, "Amusing, right?" 

Taking it as a joke, Percy laughed and nodded. "Always amusing." He knocked and the door slowly opened. Entering, Percy had to smile, a bit smugly, as he saw Tom's eyes widen and look all around. Dumbledore's rooms were so packed one could spend hours in enchanted observance and still not see everything. Tom's eyes immediately focused on Fawkes, his brow crinkling slightly. Percy opened his mouth to explain, but they were cut short by the approach of McGonagall and Dumbledore. 

At the sound of the Headmaster's voice, both boys' backs suddenly seemed to have a rod inserted in them. As they straightened up in stance, Dumbledore smiled slightly and said, "Minerva, if you would be so good as to stay with Tom for a moment, I wish to have a word with Mr. Weasley."

McGonagall gave her tight-lipped smile, but her voice was steady. "Of course, Albus." She gave Percy a grave smile as well, which Percy returned. He then nodded slightly at Tom and then followed Dumbledore to a small office off the main room. 

He had never been in this office before. It was decorated mostly in red, with bright golden fixtures. There weren't any desks, only two plush couches, piles of books, and two overstuffed dressers. It appeared to be a mini-library of sorts. 

Dumbledore motioned him to sit down, asking, "Can I get you anything?"

Percy shook his head. "No, Sir." 

"Very well." Dumbledore took the couch across from him, leaning in. "How did the day go?"

Immediately, a guilty look crept across Percy's face as he forced himself to admit, "Ginny came up." It was said stiffly, with a touch of misery and confusion balled inside the contriteness coating the words. 

Dumbledore, however, didn't seem at all surprised. "Did she? Well, I suspected it would be nearly impossible for her not to have."

"But Professor Snape made it clear she shouldn't come up," Percy answered, guilt still evident in his tone over his perceived failure.

"An admirable goal in theory, but hardly practical." Dumbledore spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and somehow hearing him say it made Percy agree. Seeing the Headmaster smile gently, Percy returned it weakly as the Dumbledore continued. "Now don't concern yourself with that. I am sure you are doing a worthy job on all accounts. Please go on."

Percy took a deep breath and recounted the day. "After we left Professor Snape's, we were going to Charms when we ran into Mr. Malfoy. He really tried to interrogate Tom." Again, Percy paused. Once he thought about it, he seemed to really be doing a shoddy job watching over Tom.

Again, Dumbledore didn't seem taken aback or upset with him. "And how did that go?"

"Tom didn't seem to like it. We left pretty quickly and went to Charms. He wanted to know a lot about the Malfoys, because Mr. Malfoy questioned him so much, I suspect." Looking at Dumbledore, his theory was neither confirmed nor denied. "Anyway, the rest of the day I told him about anything trivial I could think of, as you suggested. I even talked about Quidditch... _that_ was amusing." 

Dumbledore smiled at that. "And what did he think?"

"He… found it as useless as I. Of course, that might have been due to the way I presented it. I could tell he wanted to talk about more relevant things. He kept asking about my family, and the school. I told him I wasn't in any position to answer him. We kept getting interrupted by well-wishers. By the time we got to dinner neither one of us were in the best spirits. Then Harry and Oliver came over -" Percy stopped there and asked Dumbledore anxiously, "Am I giving you the right details?"

At that, Dumbledore leaned over and patted him on the shoulder. "You are doing exactly what I asked. Thank you. Please go on."

"All right." Percy took a deep breath and continued. "Well, Oliver wished me well using a ludicrous Quidditch example, but it was nice. And then Harry brought up Ginny…" Percy couldn't keep out the slight tremor in his voice at her name, but he pushed over it by focusing on his task. "Harry's exact words were, 'It was Tom here that did everything. He was the one in the chamber with Ginny. He stopped the Basilisk.'" 

Confusion rose in his voice, but Percy went on. "We all looked at Tom then, and he appeared like he was about to faint. He was holding his head, and when he finally snapped back and looked back at us, he said he was tired and almost ran away. I followed him, and found him talking to Peeves, who was about to say something to him when I shooed him off. He did tell Tom he knew him, but I told Tom he couldn't trust Peeves. We talked for a bit, and then he seemed to almost have a seizure."

Dumbledore leaned in at that. His eyes stayed locked on Percy's as they had been throughout the entire exchange, but they seemed even sharper at that moment. "Pardon me, but what were you specifically speaking about right then?"

Of course he would want more details about that part. Internally, he berated himself for that mistake, desperate to make up for it. Percy replayed the moment carefully in his mind before replying, "We were talking about Peeves, and Tom was wondering why the school kept him and monsters here. I asked him where he heard that, before realizing that he was talking about what Harry had said about the Basilisk. Tom's reply confirmed this. He said, 'The boy with the scar.' Then his head almost snapped back. He seemed to have trouble breathing, and his eyes rolled back for a second. It was like a struggle, almost. Then he was fine, but I told him I was taking him to see you. He didn't object." 

Percy was itching to know what Dumbledore thought about the attack Tom had, but knew it was unlikely he would give him any answers. Indeed, the Headmaster didn't, merely asking, "Anything else?"

Percy shook his head. "He finds your password and knocker amusing." At least, Percy thought he did. 

Dumbledore had a slight look of delight on his face. "Oh he does? Well, good. Amusement is always enjoyable. Anyway, thank you, Mr. Weasley. You have an excellent memory."

"I work at it, Sir." Percy said this before realizing how odd it might seem. He braced himself for the same snicker such remarks out of him usually earned him, but Dumbledore only said, "An admirable tool to work at. Thank you, Percy." He smiled warmly again, and Percy relaxed under his gaze. A moment of silence passed, as Dumbledore's eyes turned even more concerned and gentle. "I understand Ginny's funeral is tomorrow."

Percy took a deep breath and forced composure. "Yes, Sir. I was going to leave on the first train in the morning, and be back by tomorrow night, if you need me."

Dumbledore shook his head, his hand resting on Percy's shoulder. "Stay over tomorrow night if your family needs you, which I am quite sure they do. We will make do here. Of course, when you get back, I might still have you accompany Tom about the castle. His memory recovery most likely will not be easy, and I think you might be a good guide for him. Come see me when you return and we can decide how to proceed."

Percy stood up and gave Dumbledore a small smile. "Any way I can be helpful, Sir." 

At that, Dumbledore paused a moment before rising. He came over to Percy and gave him a gentle clasp on the shoulder. "You have always been helpful, Percy. Please realize how much we appreciate you." 

_Right. I really feel appreciated when my own brothers mock me, my classmates call me Perfect Percy, and my own parents are completely bewildered with and now ashamed of me,_ Percy thought. Even if he believed that Dumbledore meant it, he knew that he didn't speak for anyone else. Still, he responded, "Yes, Sir." It felt good to let himself believe that at least one person needed him. 

**

I walked around Dumbledore's office, followed by McGonagall's eyes. I paused in front of the red-colored bird. I cocked my head, and he cocked his back, mimicking me with a perfection that vaguely disturbed me, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly why. We stared at each other for a moment as I asked, "What is this?"

Behind me, I heard McGonagall pause before saying, "It's a phoenix." 

Phoenix. My mind didn't come up with any information relating to such a creature. "Is it magical?" I turned to her.

Her face was tight, but she met my gaze steadily as she replied, "It has magical qualities." Even though her voice was completely neutral, I got the impression she didn't want to converse.

Our eyes held each other's gaze briefly before I tried a different advance. "Did I know you?" I asked, approaching. She didn't flinch, but her eyes were guarded. 

"Not exactly," was her reply. I nodded slowly, and at that she hesitated before adding, "I'm sure you must be sick of hearing that. But Dumbledore said it was for the best."

"I see. Has he dealt with this before?" I questioned.

"Well, no. But with everything he has gone through and dealt with, he is more than equipped to deal with this. I trust him. You should as well," she informed me with confidence in her tone.

"Right. I'll try to remember that," I replied, giving her a smile. 

Despite herself, she gave a grudging hint of a smile back before saying, "You would do well to."

Just then Dumbledore and Percy came back into the room. Glancing at McGonagall and me, he said, "Goodbye, Professor. Tom. See you soon, maybe." 

"Goodbye, Percy. Thank you. I'll try to get by without you until then. We don't drink from the bottles marked poison, do we?" I threw back at him. He smiled and shook his head, to which I replied, "No? Very well, then. I should be fine." 

Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Goodnight, Percy. Minerva, could you send Severus to wait up here? Thank you. Tom, if you wouldn't mind following me?" He led me into the same room the he had occupied with Percy. He motioned for me to sit down.

As I sat I asked, "Where is he going? His sister's funeral?" When Dumbledore glanced at me, I continued, "This girl Ginny is his sister, right? And she died?"

I watched his slow movements as he answered me. "Yes, that is where he is going. It is thoughtful of you to be concerned with Percy," Dumbledore said as he sat opposite me.

I shrugged. "Don't have much else to occupy my thoughts at present." 

A slight smile curled up his lips. "Good to see you still have your sense of humor," Dumbledore answered. 

"Good to know I had one in the first place." Exhausted, the words flew out before I thought to censure them. I almost cringed at hearing them, staring at Dumbledore to try and gauge his reaction. He was just sitting there patiently. I cursed myself internally and said, "I'm sorry if that seemed rude, Sir." 

Dumbledore kept his smile in place while he shook his head. "Not at all. I can only imagine how trying this day has been." I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just sat still. He continued, "I have something for you."

I looked at him quizzically. "For me?"

Dumbledore nodded and stood up. He fetched a bag that sat next to a pile of maps and weights. Carrying it over, he handed it to me, saying, "You can't expect to live in those clothes, can you?" 

I hadn't even thought about it. Glancing down, I found myself wearing clothing that seemed wrinkled beyond repair. Embarrassment welled inside as I realized that I had been out in public appearing so disheveled. Looking down to hide the flush, I opened the bag. Inside were several articles of clothing. Staring from them to him I asked, "Where did you get these?"

Dumbledore smiled again and sat back down. "I didn't have time to shop for or magic them, so one of our students kindly gave them."

"Why would they do that?" I asked. 

My words gave Dumbledore pause before saying, "Because he wanted to help. He is about your size, and he has a good and giving heart. He didn't ask for any details, either, so don't worry."

"He'll probably figure it out when I start wearing them." I said, fingering the material. 

"Probably. As I've said before about any big news: you are a secret, which means everyone knows at least part of the story," Dumbledore explained wryly. He watched me for a moment before adding, "The student's name is Cedric Diggory. He is in the Hufflepuff house. Sound familiar?"

I tried to think, but nothing came. I shook my head, saying, "No. I take it that it is like Gryffindor?" When he nodded, I said, "I'll have to thank him." 

His voice was pleasantly calm. "I think you should. It will be good for you to meet him." Dumbledore then paused and said, "I would like to begin to work with you tonight, if that is alright with you."

_No, I'd much rather remain an amnesiac._ "Yes, Sir. I was hoping we would."

He gave me an odd smile at that, but it faded too rapidly for me to decipher. Before I could give in to any annoyance over it, he was speaking again. "Very well. First, I wish to discuss what happened tonight. Percy mentioned that you had some sort of fit in the hall."

I nodded, remembering the grasping voice. It really wasn't something I wished to return to. "I had a very bad headache."

"Is that all?" His voice was gentle, but the probing was evident. 

I forced myself to meet his eyes. "I felt hot. And cold simultaneously. And I couldn't breathe." I tried to maintain calmness in my voice, but the memory gripped me, wrenching my gut and tightening my vocal cords. I didn't know what he would do about any of what he was hearing. His face was too impassive to read.

However, his tone was mild. "Devastating. I'm so very sorry you had to go through something like that. Would you like something to drink? No? Then please continue, if you can. Did you remember anything?"

I latched on to the possible implication of his last sentence. "Is that what that was? A memory flash?" I asked.

Dumbledore sat back and shrugged. "Perhaps. It is hard to tell exactly right now. Did you recall anything afterwards that felt true?" 

Looking down, I felt my heart thudding erratically. "Maybe. I thought I remembered this school. It seemed familiar for a moment." Anticipating his next question, I added, "And it still does." 

He calmly digested what I had said. "I see. Anything else?" 

_I heard voices that almost made me pass out. I felt my blood boil for no reason when talking about Peeves and the boy with the scar_. The words crashed through my mind, but I had no intention of sharing them. After I had seen the terror in Percy's face, there was no way I was going to tell it as such to Dumbledore. I tried to find a way around it. "I think I was trying to remember."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I think I was telling myself to remember. I mean, I do wish to remember." Conveniently, I neglected to add the hostility that had been present in the chilling voice. _I was just overwhelmed_, I told myself. Everyone already was staring at me in suspicion, curiosity, or pity. I didn't need to add 'insane' to everyone's view of the amnesiac in their midst. 

Dumbledore pursed his lips, thinking. "That is possible. Memory is a powerful part of the mind. And I have no doubt of how strongly you wish to get your memory back." 

I sat up at that, and tried to push the other thoughts from my mind. "So can you tell me about myself then? Make me remember?" 

Sighing, Dumbledore leaned over. "It is not that simple, Tom. My feeding you your past won't be the same as your memory. We must teach your mind to reverse the charm, to uncover your past. Only from you can you know for certain what is memory and not."

That made sense, unfortunately. He seemed to be truthful. I doubted he would have been this willing if I had told him everything, just as I was sure that he had other things he was keeping from me. Once my memory was recovered, I could figure out the rest. "That makes sense. How do we do this, then?" 

Smiling at my eagerness, he said, "You do realize that this is going to take more than one night?"

"Possibly not," I responded, my jaw jutting out stubbornly as he stared at me. 

"Some things never change," he commented, and then said, "Lie down." I did so as he bustled around before approaching me. In his hand he carried several crystals. Holding a pale pink one before me, he said, "I want you to stare into this until you see a red dot in the center. That will mean that your mind has focused. It might take—"

"I see it," I responded. 

Dumbledore made a sound at that deep in his throat. "Very well. Keep the vision of the dot in your mind, and close your eyes. I am placing a seeking stone on your forehead; it will help guide your mind in the questioning. Understand?"

"I am managing to follow." 

"Good. We will begin slowly. Think of something that seems familiar." 

"The school."

"Be more specific."

"You." 

"…Very well. What is familiar about me?"

"Everything. Be more specific, I know. Your voice. Your eyes. Your movements. Your words." 

"Alright. Focus on one." 

"Your voice." 

"Excellent."

"Thank you." 

"What is familiar about my voice?"

"The sound. The cadence. The intonation." 

"Focus on -"

"The sound." 

"Good. What familiar thought or feeling does the sound bring? …Tom? What familiar thought -"

"Nothing's coming!" 

"Patience. Breathe and relax. Good. Refocus."

"All right. The sound."

"Right. Listen to my voice now. Now try to remember it. Play it in your mind. Pick a word, and say it internally. What word is it?"

"Tom Riddle. I know, its two words."

"That's fine. Interesting. Then what image does it bring up? What thought or feeling?"

"Dislike. The feeling." 

"On whose part?"

"I don't know." 

"Try to associate it with an image. Hear me saying Tom Riddle. What does that bring to mind?"

"A classroom. You taught here?"

"Don't ask. Remember."

"That was the intent."

"I know, Mr. Riddle."

"…Say that again."

"Mr. Riddle." 

"Again."

"Mr. Riddle." 

"Again."

"…Mr. Riddle."

"You taught here. You taught me. I was in your classroom. You called everyone by his or her last names in class. You said my name almost rolling the 'r' when I got something right." 

"…Yes, yes I did, Tom. I -"

Just then a loud crash was heard in the adjacent room, followed by Snape's angry yell. Another voice, one heavily accented and apologetic, was also heard. "Sorry, Professor Snape. I have to see Professor Dumbledore ri' now!"


	7. Chapter 6: Interactions

A/N-Sorry for the wait. You know, finals, holidays, traveling....I'll try to make them quicker now. Hope everyone had a nice holiday. Two things that I know are questionable that I included in my fic. Minerva was two years behind Tom at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in 1945 at Hogwarts. If there is cannon evidence to the contrary, saying like Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in France, then I'll change it. Otherwise, I know it might not be true, but I interpreted things this way.  
  
  
  
Dis-My ownership equals my bank account. A big fat zero.  
  
  
  
Chapter 6: Interactions  
  
  
  
  
  
"He's busy right now!" Snape snapped.  
  
Barging could be heard heading towards the door. Hearing it, Dumbledore gave me an apologetic glance. Still, his voice was almost relieved as he called out, "It's alright, Severus. Come in, Hagrid."  
  
At that moment a pause ensued, before Hagrid was heard to say, "EXCUSE me, Professor. You heard the Headmaster." He and Snape then entered the room.  
  
The man was gigantic, wearing woolskin clothing. His long hair and beard were ragged and matted with dirt, and the look in his eyes seemed a bit unhinged. They appeared to focus a bit though once they rested on Dumbledore. He smiled and humbly approached him, holding his hands before him. "I just wanted to say thank you, Headmaster. I know I wouldn't have been let out without..." His voice trailed off as he noticed me. His eyes grew wide and began backing away.  
  
Dumbledore quickly jumped in. "As you no doubt can tell, Tom, you did know Hagrid as well. Hagrid, Tom here has been Obliviated. He has almost no memory."  
  
"Almost?" both Snape and Hagrid spoke in unison. They all began speaking at the same time. I tried to sort it out, but my eyelids and limbs felt like lead. That short session with Dumbledore had taken the last of what strength I had. That combined with the warm room and soft couch was making just staying conscious a battle. My mind desperately wanted a reprieve from the nonstop colliding of thoughts.  
  
_______________________________  
  
"Gentlemen, please." Dumbledore's voice rose above Hagrid's and his squabbling. Honestly, could the giant git have made a more obvious reaction? Severus didn't think so. But he quieted as Dumbledore continued.  
  
"Hagrid, it is good to see you." Dumbledore shared a smile with his friend. "Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without its Keeper. And however indirectly, you might have Tom to thank for that."  
  
Hagrid looked like he'd swallowed a slug. "He almost got me sent to Azkaban in the first place!"  
  
"Yes, but he doesn't remember doing that." Dumbledore's voice was low. He glanced over at Tom, who sat still. It was evident he was forcing himself not to curl back up on the couch. He gripped the sides of the mattress and had his eyes rigidly fixed open on the floor right before him.  
  
Snape followed his gaze, but with much less sympathy. After all, Tom had kept him up all last night. "Are you sure he doesn't remember?"  
  
"Quite sure, Severus." Dumbledore drew his gaze back to him. "He was far too eager to begin to work on regaining his memory. I believe that was genuine."  
  
"You believe a lot, Headmaster," Severus added. As usual, Dumbledore was immune to his glibness. Feeling a bit embarrassed for his behavior, Snape apologized by changing the subject. "What does he remember, then?"  
  
"Me." Dumbledore smiled grimly at the look Severus and Hagrid shot him. "Only that I was his teacher here."  
  
"So he remembers going here. Doesn't recall hoisting the blame of murder onto an innocent peer at all, does he?" Hagrid asked with a trace of bitterness.  
  
~Good one~ Snape thought. Out loud he said, "So what is the plan, Headmaster? I've never heard of anyone regaining any memory this quickly. At this rate, it could only take weeks."  
  
"It's a bit worse than that," Dumbledore said softly. "Tom had some sort of fit. He told me that during the attack he heard something pushing within him to remember. He assumed that it was his own consciousness, which it very well may be." He acknowledged Severus's skeptical smirk. "It is hard to tell just yet what is going on. But he was frightened, I could tell. He didn't tell me, but I think that there was more to that voice telling him to remember than he told me. What it was, his subconscious or not, I cannot say."  
  
"So he's already keeping things secret. Wonderful. Doesn't that hint to you that this might not be a good idea?" Snape asked in exasperation.  
  
Dumbledore looked at him steely. "No, Severus. It tells me that he is scared, and doesn't trust us enough to let us know. We need to get him to trust us. That is why I didn't push it."  
  
"And you think that we can do that before his memory comes back?" Snape asked skeptically.  
  
"I think we need to try. I'll try to think of anything that might have caused the voice. McGonagall is going to start work with him tomorrow." Dumbledore looked into Snape and asked softly, seriously, "Severus, can you handle being a part of this?"  
  
Could he handle it. Could he handle helping the reincarnation of the thing that had lured him into darkness? The creature that had all but sucked his soul dry, fed off of his insecurities and laughed at what little heart he had left. The thing that had lied to him, playing off his every hate, his every love, twisting every idea, wish, and belief that he had held. The being that had made is seem okay, even for a second, to take another's life. To torture another and grind their screams for mercy into a meal to nurture himself. Albus knew of the things that he had done. But he did not know how that creature had taught him to love it, lust for it.  
  
It haunted him, his deeds. Every second of every day. How easily he had been manipulated. Wondering how deep the blackness of his own heart went for him to have been capable of such acts. To feel that others deserved the torture. Hell, didn't he feel that very creature deserved such torture now? His struggle back from the soulless abyss that he had jumped into with the creature's nudging had nearly broken him in itself. His guilt never had reprieved, and now it had taken form and shape. It had a voice, it moved, it felt, it smelled. It breathed and looked at him, stared through him with eyes that held some semblance of innocence. A visual struggle of past and present. And he was expected to help it, to keep it from the misery it had subjected him to. All because it wasn't that unleashed hell that had burned itself into him like he was cattle, like he was a pleasure trophy. Not yet.  
  
"I can do it, Headmaster."  
  
______________________________  
  
"Tom?" Dumbledore's voice was soft. I slowly raised my eyes, and he came into focus even slower. Snape was behind him. The other one, Hagrid, must have left.  
  
"Are we going to continue?" I hoped the words sounded less groggy to them than they did in my ears.  
  
Dumbledore laughed slightly and said, "I think Severus wishes to retire. Since you are to stay with him, what say we resume tomorrow? Minerva will see you first."  
  
I felt disappointed, though I doubted I could have accomplished much more tonight. Still, who would have known, had that giant Hagrid not barged in. I kept that idea to myself as I stood up slowly. I was determined not to require assistance.  
  
Snape was silent as we walked out of Dumbledore's rooms. The staircase down made me dizzy, and I closed my eyes and rested a hand against the wall.  
  
"Are you ill?" Snape's voice was gruff.  
  
I shook my head slowly. "Dizzy."  
  
"It's almost over." His voice was neutral. I couldn't tell if it was concern or if he was just making conversation. Once grounded, we walked through the halls. I managed the stairs down to the dungeon without holding on, a moment of pride since Snape was watching carefully.  
  
His rooms were freezing, as always. Unfortunately, I had forgotten the bag with the other clothes in Dumbledore's rooms. I shivered unconsciously as he motioned me over to the couch. I sat and immediately wrapped my arms around myself.  
  
______________________________  
  
~He's cold,~ Snape realized. His first thought was, naturally, ~good.~ It was always cold in dungeons. He should get used to that.  
  
Sighing, he tossed him a blanket. "Here."  
  
He caught it but didn't use it. Snape's temper flared. "It doesn't get any nicer than that, so I'd use it if I were you. Or freeze."  
  
"I suppose you're going to sleep now," was the answer he got.  
  
"That was the general idea. How brilliant you are proving yourself to be." He saw Tom merely look down. Trying to control his nerves, he said through clenched teeth, "You can shower in the morning. Sleep well."  
  
He saw a slight smile at that. Tom began to settle back, saying so softly it was hard to tell if he was supposed to hear it or not. "I doubt that'll happen."  
  
"Well, try." Snape snapped.  
  
At that Tom glanced over at him, his crystalline blue eyes emitting nothing. "Did I do something to you?"  
  
Freezing at that, an icy grip wrapping itself around his insides, Snape coughed out, "Why would you say that?"  
  
Shrugging without breaking his glance, Tom offered, "You seem upset."  
  
"I'm tired," Snape said coldly, drawing behind his stone façade. "In case you haven't processed, this hasn't been the easiest few weeks."  
  
"Yes, I understand some students were harmed. What happened to them? I thought someone said they were going to be fine." Tom asked.  
  
"They are. But it's none of your concern. Now go to sleep." Snape pointed his wand at the candles, ready to blow them out.  
  
"It must be difficult for you." Tom's low voice made him turn and face him again as he continued. "Being a teacher, I mean. And seeing those you are responsible for, those who have faith in you, being harmed while you remain helpless." His eyes drifted a bit as he finished quietly, "Being helpless must be terrifying."  
  
"......I can think of worse things." Snape managed after an interminable silence.  
  
"Such as?" Tom snapped his eyes back.  
  
"Things you should pray you never comprehend." ~For all our sakes~ Snape turned abruptly then, extinguishing the lights. Only the faint hue of blue where Tom's catlike gaze had settled had a residual remain.  
  
Eventually the blue dimmed as Tom closed his eyes, and Snape settled down in his chair aside the sofa. Yet sleep wouldn't blissfully overtake him. His eyes kept being drawn to Tom, who shifted restlessly. Every time he seemed about to drift, every time his brow smoothed into soft submission, a part of him seemed to fight back to consciousness. Or something brought him back from peace. A clenched hand or spasm would rack him, and he would turn in frustration.  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed. Part of him wanted to wake Tom, but it was almost fascinating, sort of enjoyable really, to see the struggle. And so he remained, awake and watching him, until the clock released the signal of morning.  
  
____________________  
  
Minerva sat in her classroom, waiting for Severus to bring Tom to her. Dumbledore had told her that he was afraid about how Snape was dealing with Tom. Indeed, the whole situation of having Tom here was like an inevitable time bomb and no one knew when it was magicked to go off.  
  
She didn't have any real personal dealings with Tom Riddle. He had graduated from Hogwarts two years ahead of her. Similar to the Hogwarts of today, she had remained mostly with her fellow Gryffindors, only knowing him as the elder Slytherin Prefect and then Head Boy. Minerva smiled slightly, remembering the schoolboy Tom. He had been one of the few Slytherins tolerable to most, probably because he was hard to pigeonhole as just another Slytherin. He was Tom Riddle, top of every class, charming and polite at times and yet somehow always distantly aloof. It was hard to not have been impressed by him. Indeed, it was only when he got Hagrid expelled......Minerva shook her head at the memory. Hagrid had been in her year at school, and while they had never been close she knew what a true and deep heart he had. How could someone as observant and sharp as Tom really think that Hagrid had been the Heir? She had confided as much to Dumbledore back then, and earned his lifelong friendship. Yet ever since that fateful event back in third year, she developed a caution around Tom Riddle.  
  
And the years had passed, as the reign of darkness fell. She had joined the resistance against the Dark Lord, losing many treasured friends and family to his cruelty. He had made her question her position within the fight against him, as if all the torment brought on those she loved was her fault for defying him. To think that anyone was capable of making her question whether it was right to fight against such terror...she had hated herself as much as him at times. And then a few, a precious few, found out that the Dark Lord Voldemort was the same as the boy Tom Riddle.  
  
The past had certainly haunted her when she returned to teach here. Back at the school where the young Prefect Tom had once let her off for running through the halls because she was late for class with Dumbledore. Where Dumbledore had defeated one Dark Lord, while another rose right under their own gazes. Where a past that had once warmed her heart and inspired her now invoked nothing but fear and disgust. Where the very palpable past was now pulsing before her.  
  
Snape had just entered, followed by Tom. He was dressed in clothes that must have been Cedric's. The gray pants and blue shirt were not only much too loose on his thinner frame, but they were also far more casual than any she had ever seen on Tom. Her memory of him was in crisp clothing with gleaming shoes and pressed robes. Someone had told her once that he had looked pretty raggedy when he first came to Hogwarts, but Minerva couldn't have imagined it. But there he was, looking far less like the polished image she remembered.  
  
Standing, she nodded to Snape. "Good morning, Severus. Tom."  
  
"Morning, Professor McGonagall," Snape batted back formally. He appeared just as rumbled as Tom, his face even pastier than usual. He seemed anxious to dispose of Tom. Retreating quickly, he said, "See you this afternoon," before exiting the classroom.  
  
Tom stood there quietly, looking at her expectantly to take the lead. After all, she was in the position of authority here, she reminded herself. Back in school there had been talk about how Tom treated the teachers. How he showed respect, even when he had surpassed them in cases. Then she had admired his consideration. Now she questioned his sincerity. "Please sit down, Mr. Riddle," she said.  
  
He did so, in the seat directly in front of her desk. His hands clasped on the desk, he sat straight, eyes locked intensely on her. They betrayed nothing in their gaze.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she began calmly. "How did your night go, Tom?"  
  
"Fine, thank you," he responded automatically. It had been fairly obvious when he and Severus had entered that this was not the case. But no doubt Severus was debriefing the Dumbledore the events right now. She pressed on.  
  
"What I would like to begin with, Tom, is a bit basic. Just some history." She waited for him to nod before continuing. "Not about your history specifically, Dumbledore is taking care of that. I thought that we might start broader. History in general, and then maybe the history of magic. It's foundational theories, if you will."  
  
"I am not really in a position to say no, am I?" Tom asked amicably, but Minerva was on her guard. She wasn't going to take anything Tom Riddle told her lightly.  
  
"Are you saying that you don't feel you have any choices?" She asked him.  
  
If he was taken aback it could only be detected in his slight pause. "Do I?" He finally asked.  
  
Minerva sighed, sitting back. "Well, one always has choices. Yours are a bit limited right now, but I assure you that if you wish to regain your memory properly, this is the best place."  
  
"It just seems strange, to do it at a school and not a hospital." Tom replied, casually fishing.  
  
"Do you want to go to a hospital?" She asked back.  
  
Tom shook his head. "I didn't say that. I just said that it seemed odd." He eyed her carefully. "Doesn't it seem so to you?"  
  
Minerva hesitated. She was used to students grilling her about school, but her personal opinions were a new area. "Not.....really. You see, Tom, you have a.....history and a condition that is quite complex. Please trust us, you will do better to remember here."  
  
"Because my history is tied to here, you mean?"  
  
"What makes you say that?" Minerva fought to keep her mouth closed from gaping.  
  
Tom just shrugged. "It would make sense, that a place that contains a great deal of memories would be useful in recovering such memories. And I know so many people here, though I can't remember them." He gazed at her with a look of concentrated study. "You seem too young to have taught me, as does Professor Snape and that....large man Hagrid."  
  
"Yes, well, that is what Professor Dumbledore is going to go over," Minerva cut in quickly. "Lets go on to History, shall we?"  
  
________________________________  
  
I really can't recount the amount of hours we spent that morning and afternoon going over ancient history. I asked her once why there was no magic in any of the history we were covering, and she had replied that all history was one, even that which did not contain magic. So we continued to study the history of humankind as they created fire and tools and civilizations and decay. We only got a few hundred years into the history when she decided to switch.  
  
Dropping her glasses, she rubbed her forehead and asked if I had any other questions.  
  
Looking down I thought of one. "Can I keep these books to read at night? Then I'll be ahead for tomorrow." It would go much faster if I could have had some privacy.  
  
She paused at that before saying, "I'll run it by Headmaster Dumbledore. Anything else?"  
  
Sitting back, I raised my arms up in a stretch before unconsciously clasping my hands together and cracking my knuckles.  
  
"Don't do that," McGonagall sharply said in an automotive response.  
  
I immediately dropped my hands as she gave a faint blush. "I'm sorry," I said.  
  
She shook her head. "No, no, it's alright. A lot of my students do that. Terrible habit. I try to break them of it."  
  
"I see. It must be an annoying habit. Was it one of mine?" I asked.  
  
Again she seemed to withdraw. "I---I suppose you did it on occasion. Now, onto the theory of magic.." She proceeded to pull out another book and flip it open.  
  
I straightened up at that. The word magic filled me with renewed energy, and I grasped every syllable she said. "The foundation of magic is order. We live in a fractured, mysterious world, one in which the search for meaning and organization is integral to us as sentient beings. Magic presupposes a unity, a oneness that connects things and enables energy to be drawn from and transformed." She finished reading and turned to me. "What does that mean to you?"  
  
"That we find meaning in control." I replied. When she blanched I added, "We look at things as other than us, with wonder, and we desire to know them. To know them and to figure out or give them meaning and organization is to dominate. To dominate is to control. Am I not right?"  
  
"Yes. No. Well, yes and no," She began. "Yes, that is part of us. But beneath that is the knowledge of the unity we seek. Order and understanding give rise to respect and care. That is the foundation of magic."  
  
I nodded slowly. "I see. But how are you certain that it is the care that underlies the magic, and not the desire to control?" I gave her an open answer. "I only ask to learn."  
  
"No, it's alright Tom. Many have....raised the same question. All that I can say is that rarely good has come out of control, as opposed to care." Minerva said softly.  
  
~Caring sure didn't seem to save Percy's sister~I thought. But I knew from her look that I had better not repeat that out loud. Instead I replied, "I see, Professor. That makes sense."  
  
We finished up soon after that. I had a terrible headache again, probably from not sleeping in two days. McGonagall took me to the hospital wing, saying she would send dinner for me there. Dumbledore or Snape would come for me soon. She had a word with the nurse that I couldn't hear, and then left.  
  
The nurse approached me with a tentative smile on her face. "Hello, Tom. I'm Madame Pomfrey. I hear we have a bit of a headache."  
  
"Oh WE sure do," I replied dryly. She caught none of that and whisked me onto a bed.  
  
"I have just the thing. Won't be a moment." She hurried off. I rolled my eyes and sank back before realizing that I wasn't alone. The black haired boy I had met the other day, with the glasses, was sitting beside a bed. The curtains were drawn so that I couldn't see the person laying down no matter how I craned my neck.  
  
Finally giving up, I just called out to him. "Harry, right?"  
  
He spun and his eyes widened when he saw me. "Tom? Are you alright?" He left his seat and came over.  
  
"Just wonderful. And yourself?" I asked.  
  
"I was.... keeping a friend company." He said awkwardly.  
  
He was so perturbed I couldn't help but be amused. "A pretty little friend?"  
  
He flushed at that. "NO! No, it's nothing like that. And.....and don't talk so loud, he'll overhear you." With that he nodded to the next bed, where Mr. Malfoy's son was laying.  
  
Harry continued, with dislike plainly painted on his face. "He got himself wacked with a broom during Quidditch practice. With his dad there and everything....everyone said his broom just went crazy making him fall off, but he isn't that good a flyer anyway."  
  
"Indeed." I replied, not really caring. All I could think was the coincidence that in my few moments of unsupervised spare time, a Malfoy was always present. But Harry prattled on, until the Malfoy boy, Draco, that was his name, began to shift.  
  
Moaning, with a glare underneath a welt on his head, he cracked out, "Oh, shut up. Not everyone likes to hear about or from the famous Harry Potter." 


	8. Chapter 7: Wishes Come True, Not Free

A/N-When I said that I didn't like the movie Tom, that wasn't referring to the actor at all. In fact, I thought that he was quite good. It's just that there wasn't enough screen time to give a fully dimensional character. I didn't get anything from the movie I didn't get from the book, basically. Not a big technicality, but I did like Chris's Tom, so I don't want to diss him even if unintentionally. Two things from the reviews. Harry wasn't sitting at Draco's bedside. You'll see whose side he was at in this chapter. I'll go back and rewrite that part to make it clearer. And Tom doesn't have his full memory back yet. And I will try to do justice to everyone's voice, but honestly the ones I am most interested in are Tom's, Dumbledore's, Percy's and Snape's. They are the main ones through which the story will be told, with a sprinkling of McGonagall, Lucius, and Draco, etc. Who knows where the whimsical muse of mine will take me, but the four mentioned above are pretty much the staples. 

Dis-I diss the claim that I own anything Harry Potter. The title of this chapter is a lyric from The Stephen Sondheim musical Into the Woods. 

Chapter 7: Wishes Come True, Not Free

Draco and Harry glared at each other over my bed. It was even more intense than when Draco and Mr. Malfoy had stared Percy down. However, I had a feeling this feud was a far more trivial matter than they were making it out to be. They hardly looked old enough to have blood spilled or loves stolen between them. Drolly I threw out, "Lovers quarrel?"

If looks could kill, I would be in mortal danger. As it was, I was only amused when they both turned to me in horror. 

"_NO! _No…just…no." Harry was so disgusted he had trouble spewing out the words. He shook his head emphatically at me, as if I had been serious. 

"I was joking," I assured him. 

Draco's face was also drawn up in a sneer. "Potter can't take a joke if it concerns his precious image."

Curious, I probed, "What image is that?"

"Nothing," Harry said steely, eyes still on Draco. "Look Malfoy, I was just here visiting a friend-"

"The mudblood who helps him save the world in their deranged view. Not that you'll hear him giving anyone else credit." Draco abruptly cut in. 

Harry stepped over toward him at that, his face darkening. The nurse came in just then, with a worried expression on her face. "What is going on here?" She demanded, looking from Draco's to Harry's face and back again. "Mr. Malfoy? Potter?"

They stopped glaring in turn and shifted their gazes contritely toward hers. "Nothing, Madame Pomfrey. Sorry if we were making noise," Harry said through clenched teeth.

Madame Pomfrey still looked at them sternly. "Well, you can settle your differences later. Now Mr. Potter, it is after visiting hours. You can come back tomorrow to see Ms. Granger."

Harry seemed about to protest, but the authoritative expression on Pomfrey's face deterred him. Turning, he walked behind the drawn curtain, presumably to say goodnight to Granger. He then gave Draco a final frown, me a wave, and let Pomfrey escort him out. 

Once he left I saw Draco sigh. "I thought he'd never leave."

I lifted an eyebrow at him. "Waiting for something?"

"The air to clear," he said, smirking. "His hypocrisy is stifling. There's not enough room in here for air and his ego." 

I smiled at that. "I think he feels the same toward you."

Draco flipped a lazy hand at that. "He feels nothing _towards_ me. He can only think of things in relation to himself. He only knows that I see through his act, and that makes him feel scared for himself."

"Well." I could think of nothing to add, but I needed to prod him to continue. I finally settled on, "Fear can provoke many things, I'm finding."

At that, Draco shifted to face me. An entire side of his face was darkening from a lump the size of a small fist on his left temple. Eyes narrowing, he switched to a different conversational thread. "Everyone is talking about you, you know."

"Indeed?" I offered nothing else, but that didn't deter him. 

"Oh, yes. I thought you might be interested to know that. It just popped into my head, since we were speaking of fear," he said loftily.

"So you believe I instill fear?" An icy grip wrapped itself tightly inside of me. I didn't know why, but not having a clue what he was talking about filled me with unease. I didn't trust his confident glare. I tried to keep shifting the focus on him. 

He paused at that before giving a laugh in delight. "Well, you are new. Different. We don't get many transfer students here at Hogwarts. And you haven't been Sorted and placed in a house, and the teachers are rearranging classes…you've created quite a stir. And anything different causes one some modicum of fear." 

"So you're afraid?" I batted back at him. 

He turned back, giving a smug smile at the ceiling. "No."

"Well then, I must not be new to you." I said, to which he just shrugged. Frustrated, I asked, "Do you know what good it is to have an answer to a riddle not shared?" 

At that he turned back to me. Cautiously he said, "Besides having an advantage? No."

"Well, it certainly isn't justifiable arrogance." He had yet to prove to me he had anything to lord over me, or deserved to. 

"Fair enough. Care to know the riddle then?" He waited for my shrug before continuing. "However can you know so many of the older people here, yet hardly any of the actual students?" 

"Since you know so much, I assume you know the answer to that as well. I haven't my memory." I shot back coldly at him. 

"Ah," Draco said, holding up a finger. "But why should that entail the students not knowing you? Only dear old Potter and his Weasel know you."

"That I killed a Basilisk, he said," I replied slowly, remembering dinner the other night. 

"Yes, well, I'd be careful about that. I've seen him slowly shift that story about. Add in a few more details about how HE went in to save Ginny…I wouldn't be surprised if you were cut out of the story completely soon, especially if it made the press." He noticed how silent I remained, and clucked his tongue. "It must be terrible, to rely on others for your own memory. Can't trust what anyone is saying."

I refused the bait. Draco waited a moment before trying again. "It doesn't have to take so long, you know." I slid my eyes over to him and waited as he finished. "Other people can help you. People with greater resources and better memories of the past."

"Really?" I asked. "And whatever would I owe to these charitable souls?" My eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

Draco seemed a bit put off by that, but recovered quickly. "I haven't put up a false front before you. I think I'm just about the only one. So even if you don't like me, at least I've been truthful. Isn't that what you want? I've no hidden agenda. I don't want Potter taking the credit again. I think it's sick he's trying to improve his image over the death of a young girl. And, he is just an annoying git who needs to be taken down a peg or ten."

I looked at him skeptically. "So you want to help me over whatever silly feud you have with that other kid? "

He gave an even smile at that. "It runs a bit deeper than that, you'll come to understand. In helping you, you'll see in fact I'm helping a great many people. Destruction follows this Potter, its what he feeds on to sustain his greatness. But, I can see you aren't ready to trust me yet. Which makes sense. I doubt I would think very highly of you if you did trust anyone right now."

"You're approval means the world to me," I said dryly. Staring at him straight on I added, "You want my help for anything…first prove you're worth it." 

Draco's jaw clenched at that, but I saw a glimmer of grudging respect in his gray eyes. It was as if he had in part expected my reaction. I felt a bit wary of that, and welcomed the return of Pomfrey. She carried in two trays of food, placing one of each beside Draco and myself. 

She looked from Draco to myself suspiciously. "I had to brew up some draughts for the both of you in the lab. Was everything alright in here?"

I gave her a charming smile. "Fine, thanks." She gave a small smile back and turned to Draco. I leaned over and pulled the tray she set closer. 

Setting it before me, it wafted an unrecognizable scent up to me. Glancing over, I saw Draco uncover a plate of lean meat and warm greens. It seemed palatable. I fervently hoped I would be able to keep it down. Part of my headache must have been due to the empty knot my stomach had shriveled into. Reaching out, I grasped the silver cover and lifted.

**_~_****_SAVE ME! ~_**

I felt myself slam back against the rickety headboards, away from the horror before me. The grotesque face of a rotting corpse spun round to me. Its shriveled sockets glared a murderous guilt as worms crawled from it eyes. It kept shifted features…

**_~_****YOU _DID IT! ~ _**The fates of men and women both old and young took turns screaming out at me from the hollow space that once held a living voice. 

The unrelenting tirade washed upon me, growing stronger with each accusation. **_~RAPIST! YOU SOILED OUR FAITH, OUR SOULS! _****_MURDERER! ~ _**

**_~PILLAGER! ~_**

****

**_~SLAUGHTERER! ~_**

****

**_~BEAST, DEVIL, _****_YOU SLAYED OUR CHILDREN! INNOCENT CHILDREN, GOOD MEN, DARING WOMEN, STRONG FRIENDS MASSACRED, LOVING FAMILIES CORRODED WITH YOUR TAINTED BEING, _****_YOU RIPPED TO DEATH ANY LIFE WITH JOY! ~_**

****

~PLAGUE, DEMON, I LOST MY SON! MY DAUGHTER! MY MOTHER, MY SISTER, MY BROTHER, MY LOVER, MY FRIEND! YOU CURSED FILTH, YOU MALEVOLENT MONSTER, YOU SEIZED MY SOUL! YOU CAPTURED MY SPIRIT! YOU MADE ME KILL! YOU MADE ME BEND TO YOU! YOU LURED ME IN, YOU PROMISED ME JOY, YOU LAUGHED AT MY PAIN, YOU DREW SWEET LIFE OUT OF EVERY SORROW YOU EVER CAUSED!~ 

****

~YOU TOOK MY LIFE, YOU FIEND!  EVIL FILTH, MAY DESTRUCTION BEFALL YOUR EVERY STEP. MAY YOU REMEMBER EVERY CURSED THING YOU DID. MAY YOUR WICKEDNESS SWALLOW YOU DOWN, PLUNGE YOU WHERE NONE OF YOUR CRIES CAN BE HEARD! MAY WINGED DEVILS BEFALL YOU, MAY GOOD GRACE BE DENIED TO YOU, MAY THE FIRES OF ANY HELL IMAGINABLE SWALLOW YOU, FOR YOU NEVER WILL BE WELCOMED INTO ANY HEAVENLY REPRIEVE!~ 

****

**_~_****YOU_ DON'T DESERVE SANCTITY! _****YOU_DON'T GET PEACE! _******

**~****YOU DON'T GET TO NOT REMEMBER!~******

****

**_~ EVIL! ~_**__

****

Each was contorted in agony and terror, as children's screams wailed before me and adults wept with the sorrow of years. A final face spun round, one terrified and agonized, one sorrowful and accusing. A younger face, one not as corroded with decay as the other. A girl, with faint tufts of hair a dull red, and a spark as betrayed and saddened as angered. 

**_~You lied to me…to me…Remember? ~_**

****

_____________________________________________

"He…he just passed out, Sir," Pomfrey said in a trembling voice. One minute he was talking to me fine, thanking me, and the next…he just pulled up his tray, screamed a bloody wail, and pitched over." Her eyes were wide with terror and guilt. 

Lucius hid a smile at that. "The poor boy," he said. Dumbledore gave him a glare at that, and he backed off. "I suppose I should be off. Dumbledore, I'll see you later to finish up that little Ministry matter. I'll see Draco back to his common rooms, if that is alright, Madame Pomfrey?" Lucius waited for her to nod in tearful distraction at him. He waved his son over. Draco downed the draught she had made, pulled a face, and followed him obediently. 

"So what did you talk to Dumbledore about?" his son asked as they strode down the deserted halls.

"Nothing of any consequence. Did you have a chat with young Mr. Riddle?" Lucius asked, glancing at his son. The bruising wasn't that bad, thankfully. 

"Yes, Sir. He acted pretty much as you said he would," Draco informed him, keeping the details sparse. Lucius smiled at what he heard. Of course he had. Lucius had done his history on young Tom Riddle over the years…ever since the diary came into his possession. He had worked out how to approach such an instance for years. Of course, the Obliviation was something unexpected. But it was working out beautifully. Everyone was behaving exactly right. It was like a living game of wizard's chess, and each pawn was perfectly placing itself before him. 

"Well, it is a trying time for him." Lucius said piously, sharing a glance with his son.

"I offered to help him. Not specifically in any way." Draco gave his father a glare at that. Lucius knew Draco was still miffed at how little he knew. All he had told his son was that Tom had been an old student at Hogwarts who ended up helping in the Dark Lord's cause. Draco would have to prove himself more fittingly useful before he gave anything else away. Who knew yet if the risk would be worth it? 

"Good boy. Perhaps you might give him some small help first. Show him around, he might learn a few things." At that Draco gave a quick roll of his eyes. Lucius stopped him to glare seriously, and Draco gave a small grin.

"I will, Father," he said. He was swift enough to know that meant to give Tom a few gleanings of his past. No doubt about it, Draco was a fairly quick study. If he only applied himself more, he wouldn't be behind that filthy mudblood Granger. What a humiliation that was. Of course, Lucius hadn't had to apply himself that hard to get his superior grades at school. Sure, a bookworm pureblood or two got the best of him, but a mudblood? Never. No mudblood ever got ahead of him. But then, he wasn't sure he would be any happier if he had had a son who out-achieved him than one who didn't quite compare to him. 

They had reached the Slytherin common rooms by now. Lucius smiled faintly in remembrance when he saw the entrance. Many devilishly good times had gone on down here. Some that had involved Narcissa, and ones he swore she would never know about. 

Business taken care of, he said to Draco, "I'll be in touch soon. I won't tell your mother about the accident. You know how she worries, and then she gets those frown lines she's always complaining about." 

He and Draco shared a smile over Narcissa's vanity. Draco said teasingly, "I remember when you held a party for her the first time she turned thirty. She was furious you not only remembered that, but had the audacity to share it with others."

"Yes, well, your mother is harder to pacify than the Minister at times. But to her credit, according to her she has remained thirty for quite some years. That takes quite a determination to retain that delusion." Lucius was enjoying Draco more and more as he was able to amuse him. He had felt little for Draco as a baby, but now he couldn't deny a touch of pride. 

Draco beamed in front of him at the rare moment of intimacy. And he still looked a bit hopeful, as if he wanted the conversation to continue. Charming as it was, Lucius quickly remembered he had to get back to his office. "Well, I'm off, Son." 

"Wait!" Draco called after him, and Lucius turned around expectantly. Draco knew better than to waste his time. 

Fumbling for a minute, Draco looked down as if unsure how or if he wanted to proceed. Softly, he said, "I was just wondering—about my accident today—it's not a big deal—"

"What is it?" Lucius cut in sharply. "I really must be off, Draco."

"Sorry—I was wondering if—" Draco brought his eyes up to meet his father and quickly finished, "If you knew that Tom had an accident today also. But of course you do, you were there when Pomfrey talked about it a bit. It looked like he was screaming at something. It might be nothing—"

"Draco," Lucius interrupted again. "You're babbling. Don't do that."

"Sir, I—Yes, Sir," Draco finished quietly. Under Lucius's gaze, he pulled himself up and gave a stronger smile. With a confident tone he said, "Goodnight, Sir."

Lucius gave his son a nod goodbye. "Goodnight, Son." 

__________________________________________

Dumbledore walked over to where Tom lay, his face gray against the pillow. He still held reservations about using any magic on him, but he couldn't let this matter rest. Raising his wand, he pointed it at Riddle and said, "Enervate!"

Tom did not awake gently. Rather his eyes flew open and he jerked upright with a shuddering gasp. His flung his arm and crashed the dish onto the floor, and then swung himself as far away from it as possible. His face turned a sickly shade of green as he leaned over, shaking and retching. 

Dumbledore approached him slowly, holding his hands out before him. Tom turned his wild focus onto him, and in doing so an invisible wall was erected right in front of Albus. Tom's eyes widened further as Albus walked into it at first, then stepped back, frowning as he ran his hand over the barrier. It looked like he was making a strange hand wave, pausing several feet from the bed for no reason. 

Smiling at Tom with a confidence he certainly didn't feel, Dumbledore said, "It's alright, Tom. Wonderful barrier, by the way."

"Did I do something?" Tom asked in a hesitant, ragged voice. 

"Yes, but don't worry about it. Take a deep breath and calm down," Dumbledore instructed him. Meanwhile he focused on the wall, pointed his wand and commanded, "Finite Incantatem!" The sound of a wall trembling was heard, and a moment later it was gone. Pocketing his wand, Dumbledore once again began to approach the bed. He paused at the end of it, giving Tom some space as he sat on the corner. 

Tom drew himself in protectively, warily eyeing Dumbledore. Albus could see him working out what to say. He waited patiently until Tom said, "I'm sorry."

Dumbledore paused at that momentarily. "For what?"

"I don't know." Tom shrugged, looking down. He then brought his eyes back up to face Albus head on. His eyes locked onto Dumbledore's with the same ferocious intensity they always had. "What am I?"

"Why don't you tell me what happened, first? Then we can properly piece together what is going on." Dumbledore suggested. He wasn't exactly looking forward to the direction this conversation was heading. 

Tom shook his head vehemently. "No. First I have to know just…" His eyes trailed back down to the overthrown dishes, and he looked queasy again. "Am I even really human?"

Part of him wanted to reach out to the boy before him. But Tom had never reacted well to such sympathetic contact. So instead Dumbledore offered as gently as possible, "Tom, I am completely certain that you are human. As you recalled, you were a student here. I will tell you that that was quite a while ago. How, and why, you are here now, I am afraid is still a mystery. But that you are real, I can fully attest to. Alright?"

Slowly Tom drew his eyes back to the Headmaster. In a low voice he asked, "Then what do you think of me? This real me."

"Why do you ask that?" Dumbledore asked, deftly dodging the question.

His counter did not go unnoticed on Tom, who gave him a hard glance. He finally gave a slight shrug. "Everyone seems afraid of me." He coolly offered. 

Dumbledore leaned in at that, giving Tom a twinkling smile. "I'm not," he said. "And you must understand, this has been a trying year so far. Students were injured, rumors are flying, and someone new pops up. Most don't know you, and those that do are, understandably, concerned. It is not a usual occurrence for people to come back like this."

"I see." Tom was visibly absorbing this news. Dumbledore saw the steel façade shadow over his face as he asked, "Am I still living, then? Is there a present Tom Riddle living? Or did I die?" 

Albus pursed his lips at that, thinking of how to proceed. Whatever answer he gave, Tom would surely remember and analyze thoroughly. He finally said, "No one has heard from Tom Riddle in years." Before Tom could stew on that, he gave a follow-up. "Why would you think you were dead?"

It was now Tom's turn to pause and craft his answer. This had always been their relationship. A dance of half steps, a song of half-truths. A game of respect or distrust, either way it still hung between them. Tom never trusted anyone fully, and Dumbledore was always too afraid with what he might do with any confidences. He had thought it always in Tom's best interests that he had remained cautious in the details he shared with him. _But history was slowly repeating itself,_ he thought worriedly as he pressed a hand to his throbbing temples. Should he just tell Tom everything about his past? Would it make any difference? Tom's mind was like a minefield, and any wrong step Dumbledore took in it could set off an explosion. He had never felt so helpless before…and from Tom's air of confidence, Dumbledore would bet Tom felt the same way inside. 

Tom finally offered, "I saw something under the lid, on the plate. It was… just… death." His eyes clouded a bit as he repeated, "Death… I saw corpses decaying, and screaming from their graves."

Dumbledore closed his eyes at that, letting the wave of terror wash over him. As calmly as he could, he asked, "What were they screaming?"

He opened his eyes to see the façade on Tom's face still firmly in place. Only on his brow did he sweat slightly. "They were angry about something, I think. I didn't catch the details." His look answered Dumbledore before he could ask if there was nothing else he wished to add. 

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Very well." He and Tom stared at each other for another moment, until Albus broke the silence. "That must have been terrifying."

Tom gave a small shrug. "I think my fainting can attest to that." Dumbledore keenly caught that he was furious and humiliated with himself for losing consciousness. 

"I think you should take the greatest comfort in that," Dumbledore spoke quietly. When Tom turned a skeptical eye on him, he gave a faint laugh. "The emotion of seeing such horror overtook you. I can think of nothing more humane than that."

"I don't see how fainting can be seen as a success, "Tom asked dryly. He had a weakly amused look crack through his stony expression, as if intrigued by how Dumbledore would work this theory out. 

At that Dumbledore gave a slight shake of his head. "That would depend on what you were trying to succeed in. If it was to prove your humanity, I think it an admirable success." 

Dumbledore caught the grudging smile Tom gave him at that. "Somehow I doubt that was the intent."

"You never know. But you can always make it your intent," Dumbledore said amicably. However, deep down he had the same impending doubts. 

Just then, the figure of Percy entered the ward. He was dressed in the worn, causal clothing that all the Weasleys wore under their robes. For once his prefect badge was nowhere to be seen. An expression of calm impenetrability covered his being. "Headmaster, I just returned. I was told I could find you here, " he said in his crisp voice.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, leaning away from Tom. "How are you, Percy?"

Percy gave a trembling smile at the inquiry. "Fine, Sir. As is the family." He then turned to Tom, as if to change the subject. "Drink from the bottles marked poison, did we?"

Tom had retreated behind his impenetrable shell as well. "Touché," he replied. But Dumbledore did not miss the grayness of his pallor, and the slight shake of his hands. 

Making up his mind, Dumbledore said, "Percy, if you would be so kind as to occupy Tom for a few hours, I'm going to try and figure out what happened tonight." He gave Tom a meaningful glance, to which Tom nodded back. 

Percy looked a bit confused, but said dutifully, "Of course, Sir." He seemed about to help Tom when the other boy wavered getting up. Tom gave him a refusing wave of his hand, but Albus still smiled at the offer. No matter what, Percy's heart was evident beneath his shining pomp. 

As they left, Dumbledore called after them, "Just stop by my chambers later." They both nodded and left. After they had retreated, Dumbledore turned to face the overturned dishes. Frowning, he called Madame Pomfrey into the room. "Poppy, if you would be so good, there is someone I need you to fetch for me."


	9. Chapter 8: Divide and Conquer

A/N-The memory sequence by Dumbledore was supposed to be entirely in italics. However, it won't upload that way, so it is bracketed off by ***. Also, yeah, the exclamation points did run a bit over on the previous chapter. I changed that. Oh, and this fic and TBV are being archived at sugarquill.com. A whole fancy beta'd version of them. So check it out if you drop by there. It's all pretty so far 8-)

Dis-I owns nothing HP. 

Chapter 8: Divide and Conquer

Tom's face was deathly pale, yet in the shine of the moonlight Percy could see strong determination. Percy had to rush a bit to keep up with him. "Tom, where are you going?"

"The library." Came the calm reply. Percy noticed how easily Tom was navigating the way there.

Feeling uneasy, he put a hand on Tom's shoulder to stop him. "Tom, wait. I don't think that would be wise."

"You don't, do you?" Tom's face was now hidden by shadows, his back to the window. It made it impossible for Percy to read his tone or face.

"I don't think Dumbledore would approve."

"I see. He begrudges students books now?" In the dark it was impossible for Percy to tell whether he was mocking or not. It was as if the shadows concealed more than light from him, stifling the sound of Tom's voice. 

"Well, no…"

"So it's just me then?" The reply was immediate. 

"It's not you. It's after hours. Nobody is allowed in the library now. That's the rules." It felt easier to hide behind the universal school code than tell Tom that everyone was indeed being more wary with him. Though he guessed Tom was not blind to it. 

However, Percy wasn't sure how well his reason stood with Tom. He just gave a little smile, refusing to move either forwards or back. "Very well. Don't want to get you in trouble."

For some reason that chafed at Percy more than when his brother's or schoolmates said similar things. "It's not that." Perhaps it was because Tom reminded him of himself, at least in mannerisms and attitude so far. For him to see Percy as everyone else did ate away at him inside. 

"No?"

"No. It's just that there are rules, and they should be respected. The school has them for a reason."

"I see. Well, the school must know best." Tom began to walk away from the library. Percy fell in silently beside him, wishing he felt on steadier footing. Tom kept his eyes ahead, an indistinguishable smirk touching his mouth. "And you are the best, Percy, so Dumbledore says. So I shall defer to your judgment."

"I'm only doing what's been asked of me." Percy felt on the defensive, although there wasn't a trace of aggression or hostility in Tom's voice. Rather, it was like he was being led down a path of conversation that Tom brushed through, leaving tangled words behind him to snag Percy. 

"And you always do what you are told. I'm sorry, asked. Well, I shall tell Dumbledore that you make a very good assistant."

It seemed like a compliment, even the tone in which Tom delivered it. But Percy was too used to the subtle arts and technique of sarcasm to not be suspicious. Percy might have grown up with five brothers who outright mocked and belittled him, but that didn't make him immune to understanding tricks such as this one. Indeed, how often had he tried to twist an apology or correction out of his siblings with words?  

Percy stopped there, right before the Great Hall. Angry words came to his mouth, but he pushed them back. It was late, and it had been a truly horrible day…the worst day of his life. If he were overreacting to what Tom said, that wouldn't be fair to jump all over him. He'd had enough fighting that day…

"Percy?" Percy was dragged back by the quiet sound of Tom's voice. He shook himself and returned focus on him. Tom's eyes were cautious, and with a hint of curiosity. Yet in a voice one would use when speaking to an injured animal, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Percy nodded at him, and Tom nodded back, accepting the lie. They stood there before the Great Hall, as Percy racked his brain for something to do with him. Finally, his eyes lit up. "Do you want to play chess?"

Tom's look remained cautious. "Chess?"

Nodding, Percy motioned him over to one of the tables and conjured up a board. "Wizard's chess. It's a game."

"A game?" Tom was still staring at him skeptically. 

"A strategy game. Look…Here's the board. There are two sides, white and black. Two people play, each representing a side."

"How enthralling." Percy looked up, and saw Tom still had that damned indefinable smile on his face. 

"Would you rather just sit here?" Percy fought to control his temper. So far Tom had done nothing specifically to incite his anger. Still, the bit of arrogance he saw, whether present or not, was razoring his already raw nerves. 

Shaking his head, Tom took the seat opposite him. He seemed to grow calmer by the moment. "No, do go on. Sides, you say?"

"Yes. Think of the sides like teams, my dad always said. The board is a playing field, and the goal is to defeat the other side."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "I see. Sounds more like two armies. And this is accomplished by?"

"Well, there are sixteen pieces each. Eight Pawns, two Bishops, two Knights, two Rooks or Castles, one Queen, and one King. It is more like an army, I suppose. They each have their own way of moving…" Percy went through the movements allowed by each piece. "The board is set so that each player has a white square on their right, and a dark one on their left. Like so. The Queen is always on her own colored square. And, the ultimate goal is to get the King into an inescapable position. That is called checkmate." 

"And yet the Queen is the most powerful piece…" Staring at the board, Tom pointed thoughtfully at the piece. 

"Yes. How she is used is critical to the outcome of the King." Percy agreed.

"So in a way, the King represents you. Vicariously. If you get the King in danger, you lose. He is the object of the game. How interesting." Percy could see him putting it all together for himself. Finally he looked up. "Who begins?"

Arranging the pieces on his side, Percy said, "Traditionally, white moves first. Since this is your first time, I guess I'll play it." Percy began to move, continuing to talk. "So, that was quite a mess in the hospital."

Tom paused at that. "I suppose."

"I mean, with the dish on the floor, and you and Dumbledore huddled near the corner of the bed. As if the dish were attacking or something." Percy lifted his eyes to Tom. "Your move."

Tom picked up a pawn and rolled it in his hand. "How observant. Though hardly a reasonable conclusion that I would draw. Consequently, I couldn't help but notice you looking at one of the girls who was attacked." Percy felt his face begin to flush at the indirect mention of Penny. Still, he kept his composure as Tom continued. "Oh, I wouldn't be upset. Your friend Harry was there visiting as well."

"Harry was visiting her?" Percy hoped he concealed his surprise. Harry couldn't have been visiting Penny…he was twelve. And he didn't even know her. Did he? Why would he visit Penny? 

"Yes, with flowers even. Well, he was visiting one of the girls." Tom gave him a small smile as he let his words dangle. Percy hated that the question of _which one _sprang to his mouth.

"I'm sure he was visiting Hermione. She's a close friend of his and Ron's." Percy said tersely. It bothered him that he could be so pathetic as to think anything else.

"Ron?" Tom had already moved on. 

"My youngest brother." Percy finished, glad for the change in topic. 

"Ah. I see. Yes, I'm sure that was it." Tom clasped his hands before him, his face a mask of pleasantry. "Your move."

Percy took his knight out and saw an opening. "Does Dumbledore know you wish to study on your own?" Thwack…one of Tom's pawns was crushed on the board. Percy couldn't help smiling inside a bit. 

Narrowing his eyes, Tom coolly watched him for a moment. "Why would I hide anything from him?" Tom finally countered. His eyes became even colder, but his smile was still evident. "So, you have a younger brother?"

Percy was immediately on edge. "Yes."

"Interesting. You don't mention your family much." Tom didn't even watch as one of his castles demolished Percy's knight. His eyes were glued on Percy's face. 

"No, I suppose I don't," Percy managed through a clenched jaw. He began a different strategy on the other side of the board, while remaining silent.

Tom pursued the conversation, with a different tone. "I am sorry if the topic bothers you. You understand, I have no family of my own. At least, that I know of. It's nice talk about it. It makes me feel less…isolated."

"Family doesn't always make you less lonely," the response came out of Percy brusquely, before he could hold it back. He saw the curiosity in Tom's eyes and quickly added, "At least, I don't see how talking about someone else's family can help. If anything, I'd think it would make it worse. Check."

"Yes, well, it's better than nothing. Since I can't find out about my family on my own. However, you don't wish to discuss yours." He lifted his brows at that and added, "Which is perfectly understandable, I am sure."

Percy didn't know what to add to that, so he just moved in silence. He did feel sorry for Tom. Not sorry enough, however, to go into some deep story about his own life and family. 

Tom was the one to break the silence. Pursing his lips, he gave what Percy could only describe as a consolatory shrug. "Well, a compromise then? We can talk about something else. There's another family I know. What do you know about the Malfoys?" 

Percy didn't think he would ever have considered the Malfoys neutral territory for discussion. However, it was far too awkward to not talk, and watch Tom stare through him. "Lucius Malfoy works at the Ministry of Magic. As you know, his son Draco is in Slytherin."

"And we don't like Slytherins, do we?" Tom's voice was amused.

"I've yet to meet one I like. You can form your own opinion." Percy offered diplomatically. 

"And why don't you like them?" Tom asked, carefully examining both the board and Percy.

_Because I'm human,_ was Percy's first thought, which he quickly discarded. There were plenty of non-humans who disliked the Malfoys as well. "You try listening to them mock you and your family for years, and see how cozy you get."

Tom laughed at that, to which Percy raised his glance to him. In an amused tone, Tom said, "Well, at least there is a safe place to direct the hostility here tonight." 

Percy gave a grudging smile, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Sorry. I shouldn't say things like that. It just…"

"Is true?" Tom offered. 

"Well…"

"Felt right?"

"Yes. But that doesn't make it right." Percy said this as firmly as he felt it. 

"Ah, here we are back at the rules again." Tom said teasingly.

"That isn't a rule. It's a moral…a personal one," Percy said, feeling uncomfortable. His parents had taught him never to backlash anyone, and he kept firmly to that rule. Perhaps it was because he knew just how hurtful it is to be at the receiving end. Still, deep down he really didn't feel that bad degrading the Malfoys. At the moment, it felt pretty bloody great. 

"How admirable. That cannot be easy. Well, I wonder what will happen if you are ever…asked…to do something that goes against your morals," Tom wondered aloud to him. Giving a smooth smile, before Percy could think how to respond Tom said, "Checkmate."

______________________________________

When Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, he was met with the sight of Percy and Tom. The boys sat opposite each other at the Gryffindor table, a chessboard between them. From the sight of the debris scattered, they had been at it for quite awhile. Some of the dust even coated their clothing, though they didn't seem to even notice. Both leaned over the table, eyes fiercely locked, hands clenched beside the board. However intense they felt though, the sight of two ragged intellectuals waging battle across a dining room table lessened the moment for Dumbledore. 

He cleared his throat, to which they took no notice. Raising his brow I bemusement, he called out, "Gentlemen?"

Both of them jumped in surprise and turned. Percy bore a slight flush, as if guilty or embarrassed at having been seen so. Tom merely met his gaze coolly, wearing an impenetrable mask of pleasantry. 

"How goes the game?" Dumbledore inquired as he strode over.

"Very well, Sir." Percy gave a tight nod at Tom. "He's a quick study."

"That he is," Dumbledore agreed. He was surprised to see a hint of delight cross Tom's face then. Feeling a smile start to break him out of his dour mood, Dumbledore turned back to Percy. "You may go to bed, Percy. Thank you. I shall see you in the morning."

"Yes, Sir." Percy stood to leave, yet hesitation caught him. "Sir, I…" He cast Tom a glance before finishing. 

"Yes?" Dumbledore probed.

Percy drew his attention back to him. "It can wait till tomorrow, Sir. I'll come and speak with you before class." He gave a final look at Tom, nodded, and left. 

"Have you any idea what that is about? "Dumbledore asked, turning back to Tom.

"Every idea," was the response. Tom's eyes met his. "I didn't know that the library was off limits to me." 

"Yes, well, it is, unofficially. "Tom seemed surprised to hear that. His shadowed eyes focused even more keenly as Dumbledore continued slowly. "If you wouldn't mind, let's take this to my office."

Tom rose swiftly and obediently, walking a step behind Dumbledore. In the silence, Dumbledore thought back to his recent conversation with Professor Filius Flitwick.

*******

"There is definitely a spell cast on this," Flitwick had surmised, leaning over the overturned dishes scattered across the pristine hospital floors. His pale little eyebrows kneaded together as he mumbled over the mess. "Have you any idea where it came from?"

"I am afraid not, Filius," Dumbledore admitted. "However, I thought it best to bring you down to perform the release spell with me."

"Ah, Headmaster, you flatter me," Flitwick said, merriment not masking the concern in his eyes. Flitwick was known as the finest Charmer in England, but he still never thought to help the great Dumbledore. Of course, it was wisest for Dumbledore to take every precaution here, including having support. 

Flitwick raised his wand, pointing it at Dumbledore and prepared to deflect anything that shot his way. Dumbledore, meanwhile, pointed his own wand at the shattered dish and spoiled food. Taking a deep breath, he commanded, "Imagio Encantato!" 

The mess exploded, showering both Dumbledore and Flitwick. A haze glowed green and misty, but there was no whisper of a chanted spell to inform them. All that could be seen was the transparent image of the Dark Mark_._

******

Once they had reached the office, Dumbledore opened the door and held it for Tom. Fawkes, upon seeing him, flew away back to Dumbledore's chambers. Without giving Tom to ponder on it, Dumbledore waved him to one of the wooden seats placed before his desk. "Please sit."

Tom sat, his eyes taking in everything surrounding the room. It was packed with books and scrolls, and oddly shaped figurines Dumbledore had purchased on his many travelings. The room was lit, and the warm fire accentuated the reds and golden wood colorings of the room. 

Tom made no sound, simply sitting there mirroring Dumbledore's gaze back at him. Dumbledore shook his head in sad rebuke. There had been a time he would have missed the nuances crackling Tom's façade. Perhaps it was because he was older, and knew what to look for. Or maybe Riddle had yet to re-master his tricks. Either way, the faintest hints of misery and caution bled through Tom's cauterized face like a reopened wound. 

Without saying another word, Dumbledore reached beneath his desk into a draw. Silently, he pulled out two thick folders. Placing them side-by-side on his cluttered desk, he instinctively placed another small package on top. Knowing 

Tom would not speak, he went first. "There is indeed something you should know about what happened at the hospital earlier."

Tom perked up, a guarded interest showing itself. "Sir?"

"It appears that your return is not a secret, despite best efforts to keep it so," Dumbledore said, leaning back. Over his steepled fingers he watched Tom. "Tom, why do you think we have been so careful with you?"

If he was surprised by the question he didn't show it. "I suppose for my own good."

"Yes, but why?"

He shrugged, indicating he either didn't have an answer, or wasn't willing to share one. Taking over, Dumbledore said, "Would it surprise you if I told you that, at one time, you were quite an excellent academic student?"

"Well, I have succeeded at chess," was his reply.

"Yes, well, this is a little different I am afraid." Dumbledore paused, making sure he proceeded exactly as planned. "You were quite an asset to the school. In many ways, everyone thought you'd grow to be a great asset to the entire community." 

"And I wasn't?" The question was given as if speaking about the weather. Dumbledore wasn't surprised. Tom had never been one to express. 

"Well, what is relevant now is that someone is trying to influence you. Someone who knows exactly what you are capable of."

"Like you are?" He did not have a trace of venom or accusation in his tone. 

Still, Dumbledore felt the need to steer him off of that path sharply. "I do not recall ever sending you death threats on a platter," he said mildly.

"How did you…" Tom broke his question off, clenching his mouth shut. In a deep breath he tried a different thread. "Who is it? How do they know I'm here?"

He was a boy. He was sixteen, and terrified. Behind his stone demeanor, behind the eyes that had been old when he met him at eleven, behind the witty answers and cool indifference, he was human. Dumbledore refused to give up on that idea. He refused to give up on him, that there was nothing he could do. 

Taking a deep breath, he gave Tom a warm, weary smile. He steeled himself, pushing the folders across the table with a steady hand. "This is not how I wanted to do this, but there is little choice. It won't bring your memory back, but we can try to make it help. There is a history that I wish to go over with you now…together." 

______________________________________

_~I should apologize_ ~ Percy thought as he trudged to the Gryffindor common rooms. He had provoked the tiff with Tom at chess. He just hated to be confronted so calmly with the inadequacies and insecurities he felt about himself every day. Still, for whatever reason, how he could Think tom could handle it sickened him. Not that Tom hadn't managed perfectly well.  But the fact that he had taken his frustration out on someone who had to be suffering as well filled him with shame. 

Part of him felt that Tom deserved to know about his past…whatever it was. Percy felt alone with his memory intact and his brothers a few steps away. He could only imagine how it would be to be stripped of all that. And yet, in a way, the invisible barriers that had grown between him and his family made them feel more distant with every thought of them. The closer he stood to them, the more aware he was that they didn't understand him, nor he them. How they didn't work so hard to be their best. How his siblings argued and jarred over anything inconsequential like Quidditch teams. How…how his parents had had so many children when they simply couldn't afford them. That thought always made Percy feel lower than the Death Eaters he had grown up despising. If he felt like that, he should have been the one not to be born.

So he tried to make himself useful, which resulted in his mother thinking he was a perfect saint and student, and his brothers calling him prissy, a prude, the perfect prefect, an old woman, and many others. Ginny never really had called him that, but she never came to him for anything else than help with work either. He wasn't a friend…he was a built-in study guide and rule-mongrel. Should she ask Mom to stay up late? Where did they keep the medical supplies? Who won the Troll War of 1387? No…none of his siblings loved him as a friend. 

And he had encouraged that. He was often just as infuriated with them as they were with him. He made himself think at times that he had little use for them. Until it was times like these that he realized they had grown to have little use for him.

Maybe he could be of use to someone. He certainly hadn't been to Ginny. 

He heard voices as he entered the common rooms. Surprised, he glanced round to see Harry and Ron near the fire. Harry sat on the floor, piling what looked like scrolls of homework. Ron sat on the couch, no doubt copying the work he had missed. They both looked up as Percy entered. Unsure what to do, he blurted out, "What are you two still doing up?"

At that, Ron rolled his eyes and went back to his paper. Harry quickly jumped in. "I was just letting Ron copy my notes that he missed. Where were you?"

Percy walked over and stopped, pausing awkwardly between the couch and fireplace. It was as if the barrier between Ron and him had grown almost opaque. "I was with Tom. I taught him how to play chess, while Dumbledore was busy."

Percy sank onto one of the armrests of the couch. A gutted silence filled the air, and Percy found himself speechless on how to break it.

Harry finally did. Licking his lips, he nervously stepped into the role of mediator. "Madam Pomfrey said that the Mandrake potion should be ready by tomorrow, next day at the latest."

Everyone would be restored. Penny would be restored. Yet things would hardly return to normal…indeed, they never would. Taking a deep breath, Percy forced himself to smile. "That's wonderful news, Harry." 

"Yeah, that Ravenclaw prefect will be fine, and your precious power structure will be restored," Ron said bitterly. Those were the first words he's said to Percy since Ginny passed away. 

It was a cold smack, one that stung deeply. Explanations about Penny, about their relationship, came to his tongue. Words about Ginny, regarding his fear for her this entire semester, rang to his mind. About how the entire event left him farther from his family than ever…and how that seemed to be for their own good. Better to let them bond in anger at him than wrap themselves in their own grief. That his own anger at his playing a martyr smote him. He was hardly a hero in any sense, not even being able to be there for his family. He was little more than the Weasley who didn't fit, who stood out and, consequently, placed himself higher. It was a secure position formed as much from him as from any Weasley member. 

But the words dried up in his throat, having gone too long without voice to be able to sustain a life now. Instead, le looked at Harry, trying to steady his shaky smile. "Did Ron ever tell you about the chess lessons at the Weasley house?"

Even Ron couldn't help but let out a tiny smile at the memory. Harry, eager to lighten the mood, shook his head. "No, never."

"Well, it was a big thing." Percy let himself fall onto the couch, nearer Ron but not looking at him. He directed the story at Harry. "You couldn't learn until you were ready, Dad always said. Of course, how he knew you were ready was when you simply asked him. Ron started lessons at about two." Percy couldn't help but sneak a glance at his younger brother. Ron still wouldn't meet his eyes, but it was clear he was listening, and remembering. 

Percy continued. "It was an enormous event for Dad. He would always wait till he had the whole day free. Then, he would get Mom to take everyone else out of the house for the day. 'Chess is intimate,' he would say. So Mom would roll her eyes and take the rest of the family away, leaving just Dad and whom he was teaching. And he would spend hours, going over every piece and move. He would tell stories about his learning to play it. He never let us win, but we would have to keep playing him that first day until we won on our own. He and Bill were at it for fifteen hours…he made Mom take the rest of us to a hotel. He didn't let Bill give up."

Percy glanced at Ron, hoping to spark some conversation from him. He was still met with his little brother's stubborn silence. Taking a breath, he continued. "Bill is still the worst…and you wouldn't think it. He doesn't even play anymore, not since George beat him at eleven. Anyway, the last thing Dad would do was give each of us a secret move. He said he had thought about each one to give us since the day we were born, and that it fit us perfectly. He warned us never to tell the other's what our special move was."

He saw Ron's smile widen. This was always Ron's favorite part of their story about Dad. Percy waited for Ron to quietly pick the story up. "We all played Dad, and he only seemed to really have one special move…and after twenty years of us, it really wasn't that secret anymore. We always wondered if he hadn't just told each of us the exact same move, saying it was a special one for each of us."

"But as much as we wondered or laughed about that, we never did share our moves with each other to compare. Never. Not even Fred and George." Percy finished. 

Silence enveloped them, broken only by Ron's soft voice at last. "I wonder what Ginny's move was." With that he slowly raised his eyes to Percy. "But she never would have told. Never. She'd hit me if I even brought it up, even if we were just joking and playing." 

"I never even tried with her. I just told her no," Percy said, not sure if it was to him or to Ron and Harry. He wasn't even sure he was still talking about chess. 


	10. Chapter 9: Fight of the Bumblebee

A/N – Sorry for the interminable wait. 

Dis – What a surprise! I don't own Tom! Whoda thunk? 

Chapter 9: Fight of the Bumblebee

"And then, he just started screaming, like… like he saw Granger naked or something." Draco said, making an effort to paint the picture of young Riddle's episode for his Slytherin friends. They all appeared wide-eyed and jealous of him. This Riddle was, after all, the focal point of the entire school. It gave Draco infinite satisfaction to hold the spotlight, even though he knew he probably shouldn't be telling them all this. 

"And they have no idea what caused it?" Marcus Flint asked, quickly writing his name on top of a stolen homework assignment. 

"Nope. He just stared down at the soup and shrieked. Like a wuss." With every word Draco was feeling a surge of satisfaction. Whoever this Riddle was, he was certainly occupying a great deal of his father's interest. And while Draco had every intention of obeying his father's command to get close to the boy, he wouldn't deny himself the petulant pleasure of ragging on him in private. 

Flint snorted, putting the finishing touches on the scroll. "What a girl." That remark earned him a glare from Pansy, Millicent and Blaise, but he paid them no mind. "If he thinks a bowl of soup is bad, imagine if he had to go up against that snake thing the Weasel died from." 

Draco shook his head. "That's the oddest part… he said that Potter said that he fought the Basilisk. And since when does Potter give anyone else credit?"

"True." Blaise's eyes narrowed in thought. She pulled one of the green cushions onto her lap and leaned over, curling her hair around a finger as she mused. "Unless Potter thought that it would be too risky…being the one to find the dead body and claim to kill the snake. Maybe he figured it would be safer to put this Riddle in that position." 

Draco shook his head. "You're thinking too much like a Slytherin. That's a good thing," he assured her when he saw her indignant look. "Potter knows he has that old coot Dumbly wrapped around his finger. If anything, now that this Riddle's lost his mind, I'm surprised Potter hasn't claimed to have rescued him as well." In frustration, Draco ran a hand over his hair, wincing when he hit his bruised temple. "What is he getting at…?"

"Riddle…I've heard of a riddle," Crabbe said. He was sitting nearest the hearth with Goyle, both of them holding their feather pens close to see if they would catch on fire. 

"Of course you have, Crabbe," Draco said, rolling his eyes. They rest of the group ignored Vincent as well, as they had grown accustomed to. 

"I think my father said something about a Riddle once," Crabbe added, not realizing the annoyance he was causing in the others.

"Like, how is it possible for you to focus on speaking and breathing at the same time?" Draco asked, throwing a pillow at him. Crabbe caught the pillow triumphantly, only to then realize he had dropped his feather too near the hearth. It quickly burst into flames, causing both he and Goyle to jump up. How they had enough sense to start stomping on the thing, Draco would never know. But at least they were occupied now, and couldn't interrupt his pondering on what connection his father could have with this Riddle. 

If only he could see them together again…he might be able to figure something out. The way his father had looked at Riddle… with admiration and yet an unmistakable condescension.  Lucius Malfoy, the King of layered expression. He had tried to teach Draco the same technique to use and befuddle his opponents. If you are hungry, be sure to also look full. If you seem tired, display boundless energy to boot. Give a warm, welcoming smile, but never let it reach your eyes. Lucius praised and berated him at his attempts, and honestly, Draco could never tell what he had done wrong or right. 

"Oh, _no_!" He heard Pansy shriek. He turned to see her leap up, dragging Millicent along with her to the girl's dorms. "It's already morning, and we must look horrid!"

"Yeah, you can no longer hide that ugly mug under the darkness of night," called Blaise cheerfully after them. Stretching, she stood and grabbed Marcus. "I'm too riled to sleep. Let's go flying." 

Marcus looked like he would rather not, sleepiness blatant on his face. However, he wouldn't back down from an offer, or a challenge, from a girl. "I'm up for it. Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm going to the Great Hall." 

"Loser," Marcus told him cheerfully, turning to the dorms. Without looking at either Crabbe or Goyle, Draco left the common rooms. He knew he should look for this Riddle, who was probably with that Prefect Weasel. Gad, how Draco hated the Weasleys. Since both of their fathers worked in the Ministry, Draco had run into them at various functions before coming to Hogwarts. The twins tried to make him eat something that reeked of catfish, and the two oldest ones had held him upside down over a trashcan. Earlier this year, Ron had tried to make him eat slugs, the Prefect tried to write him up, and the little girl had a crazed obsession with Potter…sending him a singing telegram of all things! Thinking about it, Draco almost pitied Riddle right then. 

"Are you still in the same clothes as yesterday?" The question whirled him about, and his eyes narrowed on Potter. He stood there, looking remarkably happy. The Mudblood and the Weasel were at his sides. 

"I'd be more concerned that you noticed than if I was," Draco shot back. Inside, he burned with embarrassment. He had come back from the hospital late, and talked all night with the other Slytherins…and then he had just walked out. How could he have been so _stupid_ to make such a blunder? 

"Looking for the number of that bludger that ran you over? Don't worry, Harry took care of it I heard," Hermione said cheerfully. She looked incredibly pale, and had a hand on Harry's arm as if to steady her. She must have only been revived a short while ago. Damn Mandrakes.

The Weasel was silent. Draco was sure that they were only antagonizing him in an effort to cheer Ron up. But Ron wasn't partaking in the mocking. Still, Draco couldn't just let Potter and the Mudblood have their fun at his expense. Not looking at Ron, for he wasn't really the target this time, Draco thrust back at them, "Why can't we all be friends? We all have so much in common now. None of us has a sister, for one –"

Before he could finish he was flung back, Ron at his throat. Harry was moving to help him, but he still had to support Hermione. She was shouting for Ron to get off of him, and Draco was about to tell him to listen to the girl when Ron looked up, paled, and withdrew himself on his own. 

Professor McGonagall was standing over them, her face awed at what she had apparently heard. Draco paled… would blaming his head injury work? 

McGonagall pointed at him, ignoring the others completely. "You, Mr. Malfoy. Come with me." She then turned and began walking away. All Draco could do was gulp and follow her stiff back, all too sure where she was leading him. 

***

"That's awful." Bright morning light shone through the golden curtains, casting their beams across the scrolls in Tom's lap. His head was bowed over them, too low to see his face.

Dumbledore sat quietly before him, hands folded in his lap. "Yes, it was." He felt calm for the first time in days. It was as if the attack on Tom enabled him to see what might be the right way to fight for him. At the very least, it showed him what he never would do. Tom still looked so sick and tired, Dumbledore felt only compassion for him at the moment. He was still cautious, but he was in control. He made himself in control…he had to be. Tom needed that, especially now. 

"I can't imagine _anyone_…" Tom shook his head, still not glancing up. His eyes blinked, roving over the scripted words he had read several times by now. 

Dumbledore smiled, only having lived through it to be able to. "It cannot be counted as a good memory, no."

"Did the authorities get involved, at least?" Finally, Tom's eyes flew up to his, wide with anticipation. 

Dumbledore nodded, calmly saying, "Oh, there was talk of Azkaban, surely." 

"But they didn't…?"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore finished the thought for him. "No, although some greatly regret that decision." 

"I can't believe it, Professor," Tom said, his eyes falling back down to the papers in his lap. He took a moment before bringing them back to Albus. "You…almost… were sent to Azkaban?"

Albus smiled wryly. "Oh, yes. As I said, it wasn't a pleasant time. Few knew the Dark Lord was truly dead. There was pandemonium, and people were looking for someone to blame. The Ministry wanted someone to throw to the public, to regain a position of control. That right there is telling of who is really in control. But, that is another matter. Grindelwald was deceased, and the only two left intact were myself, and Nicolas Acheron."

Tom nodded, his expression thoughtful. "So they wanted you to turn in Acheron."

"Yes."

"And you would not." He said this as neither a question nor a rebuke. 

Albus answered him honestly. "I thought about it. But I never considered it, if you understand. Acheron had gone astray, surely, but he was a victim of Grindelwald as well. Most of Grindelwald's followers at the end were tortured mercilessly. Acheron had been…disturbed, let's say…long before he met Grindelwald. His crimes could not go ignored, of course. He had made choices. But the blame was not solely on him, and therefore, I couldn't let him take the full brunt of the Azkaban punishment." 

"You thought you knew justice better than the law." Tom replied. Albus almost smiled. Most would have taken Tom's words as biting or condescending. But with Albus, it seemed more like a challenge. As if Tom were laying out different experiments with his words, waiting to see if Albus would react to them in a fitting way. It wasn't that hard to understand. If Tom made him feel he had to explain himself, then Tom would be the one in control. And Albus wasn't about to hand that over to him. The first way to reach Tom was to gain his respect. 

"I do not pretend to have a higher understanding than everyone else. I can only answer to what my heart says is just, though. And turning on a man who did not, _could_ not, in his condition, fully understand the ramifications of what he had done...that wasn't possible for me. He needed healing first, he needed to understand. And then, I think, the realization of his crimes would have tormented him enough. For any human, it would be so." 

"And of Grindelwald? Do you feel healing could have worked with him?" Tom probed, a bit petulantly. 

"There is a point when one cannot return. It is the point when they, themselves, do not wish it. Acheron wasn't capable of making that decision then. Grindelwald, unfortunately, had. A long time ago." Albus said this with the regret he truly felt.

"But what if he had changed his mind later, and wished for reformation?"

It was like a child testing the authority of an adult. Except, Tom no doubt knew his fate really did rest with Albus right now. He couldn't begin to trust if he didn't understand where Albus was coming from.  Albus pursed his lips in thought, trying to answer as truthfully as possible. "Had Grindelwald not fallen in battle, I would not have desired the Dementor's Kiss as punishment for him. I do not believe in Azkaban at all. But either way, Grindelwald was too far-gone to be reached by anyone. Any change he might have made, it would have had to be on his own. But the possibility for good always exists. Those who choose to ignore that fact are either ignorant, or incompetent." 

"Well." Tom didn't seem to know what to say. He finally decided on, "You've certainly let quite a life." 

"Thank you. I agree, it has been most enjoyable. And now, I would like to put a question to you." Dumbledore replied, watching Tom's guard build up. 

"Yes?"

"Why do you suppose I gave you these books and journals?" Albus nodded at the books strewn across Tom's lap. 

If Tom were surprised by the answer, it didn't show. And yet he took his time, giving Albus hope that a formulaic answer would not come out. "To get me to trust you." 

Dumbledore nodded. "Partially." 

A small furrow of his brow told Albus that Tom was puzzled that his answer wasn't sufficient. He tried again. "To not have me fear you?"

A surprised snort escaped from Albus then. "I hardly thought that I instilled fear in you. But yes, if I had, I hope that has diminished as well."

Tom appeared a bit frustrated now. "To – to – I don't know," he finally said. As if this were too large a failure to just admit, he added defensively, "I haven't slept in three days."

Albus waved his comment away with a small bat of his hand. "No matter. Tom, I gave you my history, both my own account of it and that of others, for you to do with as you wish. I offer only what I can to allow you to understand me. And, in understanding me, to realize that I have no wish to harm you. I abhor the thought of what you went through in the hospital. But, I will not deny that there was truth in it." 

"In what was said about me?" The voice was small, as Tom weren't sure he wanted Albus to hear it. 

Dumbledore paused, trying to discern how best to answer him. "You think it unfair of me not to tell you. Perhaps. But my telling you your past won't enable you to remember it. And if you cannot recall it, you cannot understand it. What is being forced upon you now is not fair to you, either." 

"Who is doing it?" The voice was strong and indifferent, but Albus noticed that Tom would not let him see his eyes. 

"That, I am not sure of. I tell you the truth, Tom. I may say to you that I cannot tell you something, but I will not lie to you. I have only your welfare, and that of the school's, in mind in what I'm doing."

"And how is it possible to determine that your way is the best?" His eyes finally met Dumbledore's, with a challenging glint. 

"For that, you must trust me. And to do that –"

"I must understand you," Tom finished. "I see."

Dumbledore leaned over, closer to Tom. "I know it is difficult to trust someone. But a wise man accepts help when he needs it. I will not beg to earn your trust, nor fight to win it. But I hope that you can learn to."

"And what about your trust in me?"

It was a fair question. "I am willing to learn with you. I have faith in you, Tom. I trust you enough to see someone who is in need of help, and therefore, is not beyond help."

Tom looked wary at that, as if he thought Dumbledore was casting some spell to read his thoughts. He leaned back, asking, "And you know that because…?"

Dumbledore gave him a small grin. "You're testing me. You wouldn't test what you had passed over. And that is enough of an outreach for me." 

Looking him over carefully, Tom searched his face for some sign of falsity. Finding none that Albus could read, Tom inquired, "So what is to be done now?" 

"I would say, disregard whatever you see during your episodes. However, I realize how impractical that is. So, I suggest you take it with a grain of salt."

"A grain of salt?" Tom asked, looking for clarification. 

"An expression." Dumbledore informed him. "It means, don't put too much faith in them. They are telling a version of the story…and that version is not necessarily yours." 

"May I have a wand, then?" If the jump in conversation lacked a suitable transition for him, Tom gave no notice of it. 

Resolving not to let Tom put either of them on the defensive, Albus merely put the question back to him gently. "Why do you need one?"

Tom paused. It was as if he were expecting Dumbledore to either have bending beneath his question, or shot back at him sharply. The gentleness was not expected, and he didn't seem comfortable with it. "It seems I should. If I am a wizard."

"I think you best get your memory restored first. Magic without knowledge is very dangerous, to you and others." Dumbledore felt secure on that point. It was as if the assaults on Tom gave him something clear to fight against. Someone who clearly didn't have the knowledge of true magic. 

Tom pursed his lips, but gave a grudging nod. "I suppose."

"But there are other things besides magic to study. History. Basics of Astrology and Arithmacy should be fine. Muggle studies. Poetry. Quidditch." He saw Tom's expression and chuckled. "Do not let Mr. Weasley turn you off of it. Deep down, I think he does have a fondness for it, if his behavior at previous games won by Gryffindor can account for anything."

"Deep down."

"Mr. Riddle?"

Tom shook his head, waving away that train of thought. "Nothing. I suppose I am to study with Percy?"

"If not with a professor, that would be fine. It is as much for him as for you." Dumbledore was curious as to how Tom and Percy were getting on. Percy was a bit rigid, but that might be a definite plus against Tom. No, not against. To temper Tom. 

"Yes. Are we to work today?" Again, his words leaped off onto another trail. Perhaps three days of no sleep were catching up with him. 

"If you are feeling up to it."

"I am." He said this very assuredly, jutting his thin chin out. His eyes caught the light of the sun, and in their reflection Dumbledore couldn't miss the steely determination. 

It was best they continued, in an effort to ward off whatever might come next. "Very well. We shall begin tonight. But until then…you remember how to write?"

"Yes, I seem to. I did when I last met with Professor McGonagall. I don't think basic skills left me." There was an undeniable note of pride in his voice. 

Smiling, Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Excellent. Write down anything that confuses you, or any flashes that you get. And be sure to find time to rest. These sessions are not easy." 

"Yes, Sir." Tom stood to leave, and then hesitated. His face was impassive, but he said, "I think there is something you should know."

"What is it, Tom?"

"I tried to go to the library last night." He said this with a calmness Dumbledore admired. 

"I know." Dumbledore smiled as he stroked his chin. 

"I also knew you wouldn't have let me."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am fully aware of that."

Tom paused, and then gave a quirky smile. "And…I'm not overly fond of the color red."

There was a moment of silence, and then Albus laughed. "That…I actually did know as well." There was a knock heard at the door. Albus bid the person enter, and Percy stepped in. He wasn't wearing his school robes, seen as it was the weekend. He gave Tom a stiff smile, and said, "May I speak with you, Headmaster?"

"Yes, Percy. Tom, please wait in the other room." Albus waved him out, focusing on the tension between the two.

"Of course, Sir." Tom gave a pleasant smile and sidestepped out of Percy's way. Percy waited until the door closed behind him, and then focused on Dumbledore. Tension visibly drained from his body as he sank down into the vacated couch when offered. 

"Now then, Percy. How are you? I spoke with Ron, Fred and George yesterday when they just returned. How is your family?" Albus's long love of the Weasley family enabled him to push all thought of Tom aside for a moment. 

"They're fine, Sir," was the answer given. But then his brow furrowed and he admitted, "Actually, I don't really know. They might be hiding how they feel."

"A very rare occurrence for most of the Weasleys." Percy blushed at that. Dumbledore often did those gentle jibes to force Percy's focus back on himself. 

"I'm fine, Sir. Really. But maybe Ron or the twins could use something. I know the twins have Lee and Angelica and all their friends. But they rarely talk about anything this serious. I feel better that Ron has Harry, and now Hermione – did you hear, Sir? The Mandrake serum was used this morning, to full effect!" Percy brightened to recalling that fact. 

"I did indeed, Percy. It is wonderful news."

"And Mum and Dad have each other, and the Ministry is being really supportive. Except…Malfoy sent them a condolence gift. Silver roses. Silver petals, with green stems. I heard Dad threw the flowers in Malfoy's face." Percy seemed embarrassed by that. "I don't know if I would have handled it like that." As if realizing what he said, he hurriedly added in his father's defense, "Not that I blame his sentiment."

"Nor I, if it was indeed meant in such a cruel way," Dumbledore said carefully. He then paused, and pressed gently, "But what about you?"

Percy immediately froze, a guarded look overtaking him. "What do you mean?" It was apparently the day for Albus to cause his students to go on the defensive. Well, one student, and Tom. 

Albus would not be dissuaded. "And who do you have, Percy?"

"Who do I have?" Percy's guard was infallible in certain circumstances, but when confronted by a figure it was possible to crack. "I have – I have – my family. And Penny. I have Penny," he answered finally. 

"I see." Albus didn't push him further. Instead, he gently said, "I ask only because I care. And I know how it is to feel alone. To not have proper support…" he let his eyes drift to the door and he sighed. More to himself he finished, "Though whose fault that is, it is sometimes hard to tell. Normally, it is more than one's."

"Support," Percy echoed, looking miserable. "I haven't been very supportive of Tom."

His reaction surprised Albus a bit. He had thought Percy was angry or fed up with Tom, not with himself. "How so?"

"He –" Percy swallowed his words. Taking a deep breath, he looked Dumbledore straight in the eyes. As if speaking in court, he explained, "Tom wanted to go to the library last night. He was going to start studying his past himself." He then dropped his gaze down at his lap, softly muttering, "I know you should know that."

"I know, Percy." Albus was quick to end his guilt. "Tom told me himself."

"Tom told you?" The look of surprise on Percy's face was unmistakable. "I'm…very glad to hear that." 

Albus smiled, not giving voice to his concerns. He hoped, he _truly_ _wanted_ to believe, that Tom had told him of his own free will. He longed to think that Tom desired to be completely open with him. It was far more comforting than the alternatives. That Tom knew Percy would come forth, and thought it would look better to admit it himself. Or, that Tom thought he might gain Albus's trust by confiding in him. In and of itself, there was no fault in the latter reasoning. It was what Tom wished to do with his trust that Albus still feared. But he did not voice it…he _would_ give Tom a chance. 

"…Apologize to him?" 

Albus's mind snapped back, realizing that he had missed Percy's last words. "What do you think?" he asked, stalling. Apologize? He must mean to Tom.

Percy thought very carefully. "I think it's the right thing to do. I did snap at him a bit…he just threw me off." 

"Do you feel sorry?" 

"I – I feel sorry if he's hurt," Percy finished. "I knew he had a horrid day yesterday. He didn't seem hurt, but…it wasn't right."

"Then by all means, do what you think is right." Albus smiled down on him, a warm grin that reached his eyes. Speaking words of his pride didn't seem necessary, as Percy understood his look and smiled back.

"Then I will."

"Very well." Albus let the smile linger, though his next question was far heavier. "Percy, I wish to ask you something. What is your opinion of Tom?"

Percy looked surprised to be asked. He leaped into action, artfully giving his thoughtful critique. "He's… intelligent. That's fairly obvious. And observant. He… he liked to win. No, he enjoyed beating me. The process of it, you know?"

"Hm, I do. Not so unusual. Please go on."

Percy flushed a bit, hurriedly stipulating, "Well…this is just my opinion. I don't know him very well, and he is in a rather unusual situation…"

"I understand completely, Percy. Have no fear. I ask merely to gain light to this complicated situation, and to help him. You have spent a great deal of time with him, and I trust your input."

"Well," Percy twisted his hands a bit, continuing, "He…puts me on edge."

Albus didn't stir at the remark, for it wasn't surprising to him. Tom put many people on edge, though for different reasons. "On edge? How so?"

**

Percy knew that would be the next question and cringed. He was rarely competent at putting voice to his emotions. Gut instincts were not things he was accustomed to sharing, unless he could back them up with clear evidence and reason. But, Dumbledore had asked, and Percy had to respond. "It's hard to explain…it might just be me, really. All he said was that I was a good assistant, and he was impressed by my morals. But…" he paused. Thankfully, Dumbledore was quiet, letting him work through his thoughts. "But I got the feeling he was…testing me. Or at least, trying to make me test myself. It was the way he put things, that made me think."

"What way?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet but insistent.

"He said…I wonder what would happen if someone asked you to do something against your morals. But that was just after our little argument. He might have just been annoyed, or teasing. And I was tired, I might have taken be blowing it out of proportion," Percy rambled, trying to reason everything out in his head as much as he was trying to report to Dumbledore. 

"Percy." Dumbledore's voice jerked Percy out of his endless thought trail. He glanced up to see Dumbledore smiling again as he continued, "I won't put reasons into Tom's mouth. All I can say is, listen to your instincts as well as your reason. They are sharper than you think."

"Are you saying I shouldn't trust Tom?" 

"No. I am saying not to take everything he says to heart. But, if something does strike your heart, examine it closely. Don't just rationalize it. You might be surprised by what you learn, about yourself and others." And with that cryptic smile of his, Dumbledore finished with, "Trust yourself to examine such questions. Not for Tom, but for yourself." 

Wisdom by Dumbledore was a strange phenomena. On one level, it was as clear as air. But the more one's mind wrapped around it, the farther it slipped away. As if his words were magicked to leave just the barest footprint on Percy's mind, relying on Percy to fill it in by himself as he may. It was a frustrating yet freeing experience. 

"Yes, Sir."  

They both stood and entered the main chamber. Tom stood in the center of the room, his eyes fixated on the floor and wearing an odd smile. Odd was the only way Percy could describe it. It was higher on one side and tightly coiled, but never reached his eyes. It didn't surprise Percy. He had all but given up in trying to discern Tom. 

At the sound of their footfalls he raised his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and yet still sharp. He walked over to meet them, saying, "Percy, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I think some of what I said you took wrongly."

"Which parts?" Percy couldn't help but ask.

Tom's gaze flickered at that, but he answered easily enough. "Whichever parts made you upset. I – I cannot recall if I was a good conversationalist, but perhaps I am now awkward from lack of practice. I only meant…well, what I didn't mean was to offend you. Please forgive me."

Percy eyed him suspiciously, smarting a bit that Tom had bested him by apologizing first. "Were you listening at the door?"

An indignant expression crossed Tom's face at the accusation. "Why would I?"

"Well…" Percy paused before stumbling. It was starting to infuriate him how Tom always managed to twist the situation to place himself in the offensive position. "Because I was going to apologize to you."

"You were?" Tom's face bore a surprised expression. He cocked his head at Percy, waiting for him to finish. 

"Yes."

"Well…all right," Tom said, folding his arms around him. He looked at Percy, waiting to hear the actual words. 

"Fine. I apologize."

"As do I."

"I forgive you." 

"As I do you."

"Fine."

"Fine." 

The conversation was exchanged rapidly and with questionable sentiment, but it was said. But before Percy could say another word, the sounds of others coming was heard behind the closed entrance door. The steps were quick and loud, but it was still possible to hear a boy's voice loudly protest, "All I said was that we were alike now, since neither of us have sisters! He and the others just took it the wrong way, honest! It was meant as solidarity!" 

Percy froze, his face tightening as he saw McGonagall and Draco appear through the door. The slightly fearful look Draco gave him upon seeing Percy wasn't too unwarranted at the moment. 


	11. Chapter 10: The Stranger

A/N – I know, this has been an age in coming. This fic is being re-written, polished, and such. However, hopefully since I've gotten a lot of that done, the new chapters will be coming out much faster. We're half-way done, ppl! Thanks to all for reviewing, I appreciate it to no end.

***

Chapter 10: The Stranger

Facing him again were Dumbledore, Tom, and Percy. They seemed to be becoming quite chummy, from all the time they were spending together. But before Draco could say another word, McGonagall gently but firmly pushed him forward. To Dumbledore, she said, "I'm afraid Mr. Malfoy is in need of a detention and proper reprimand. However, seeing as I am not his Head of House, I don't think it my place. Do you know where Severus is, Headmaster?"

_Very clever of the old hag_, Draco thought bitterly. Had she gone to Slytherin's Head of House, Snape would let Draco off with only a warning most likely. And the harpy wanted to see him suffer for such a little joke, since she detested Slytherins. So, she was working Dumbledore, wheedling him to let either the old coot or herself handle his punishment. His father would hear about this. 

Dumbledore's eyes held no judgment as he said, "I'm sure Severus wouldn't mind you dealing with it, Minerva. He had quite enough going on, as it is."

At that, McGonagall's eyes flitted to Tom, then back to Dumbledore. "Very well, Headmaster." Her eyes dropped to Draco, and in her sharp voice she required, "Follow me then, Mr. Malfoy." She lead him out the door, walking quickly so Draco could only make a swift notice of the expressions on the others' faces before he left. Dumbledore looked weary but impenetrable, showing nothing behind his gentle façade. Percy looked furious, his back as stiff as ever. And Riddle...Draco caught eyes with him at the last moment, gray meeting blue. Riddle appeared amused, staring back at Draco levelly. 

Well, it wasn't a budding friendship, but it was something. His father would be pleased to hear of it, when he returned home from whatever trip he was on now. Draco frowned; his father always refused to tell him where he was headed, and Draco felt that, of late, it would have been of particular interest to know his father's plans. 

***

Every inch of Percy's being did _not _want to baby-sit Tom. He wanted to go back to Penny. His Penny, who was sweet as well as smart and let him hold her hand earlier that day. He had waited the whole night, sometimes with her family, other hours pacing outside to give the Clearwaters some privacy. Just after she had woken up, right after seeing her family, her eyes had settled on him waiting behind her father. Her round face positively lit up and she held out her hand, pulling him to her in a warm embrace. She didn't know about Ginny yet, and he didn't plan on informing her soon. It would be too horrid to press upon her right then. A frown of disapproval and worry had settled upon him when he found out that Hermione had already heard about it. The poor girl herself had just awoken.

Few of the students were left in the infirmary by now. Penny had wanted to leave as soon as she could, as had all the Petrified students. Percy was sure she would have swung herself up and crawled out, had he and her family not been there to calm her. After a few hours, the students were released to their dorms to rest with friends and family. During those hours, he had fetched her and her family food and drinks, giving her hair a brush or hand a caress when her parents and young sister weren't smothering her. Then, she had leaned on him as he took her to the Ravenclaw rooms, listening to him tell her to expect muscle aches and trembling like Pomfrey said, and to call for him if she needed absolutely anything. In response, she had smiled and kissed him and held him close, and it felt so incredibly good. Imagine, someone who appreciated his care and attention. 

At the same time, he had felt guilty. He knew Dumbledore was counting on him, and he should have asked if he was needed with Tom earlier. But he had just needed someone to want him in a way that had nothing to do with being a blindly loyal assistant. Tom had tainted Percy's view of his assistance. All he had left was a desire to do something to help, something that was right, some way he could be useful and enjoy it. Penny filled that need inside him. In a way, his reaching out to Penny was selfish as well.

But now, in the office, Percy felt more confident. After speaking with Dumbledore, knowing the respected Headmaster had confidence in him, it reduced some of the insecurity Tom had easily slipped inside his cracks. Dumbledore know what was best, and he didn't bestow responsibility to those who shouldn't be trusted.

But then, Dumbledore _had_ hired Gilderoy Lockhart as the Defense professor. 

_No,_ Percy told himself firmly to stop the doubts poking up. He trusted Dumbledore, and he wasn't going to start thinking like that. True, he'd sometimes questioned Dumbledore's decisions, but in the end he'd always decided that Dumbledore knew best. And if Dumbledore trusted him, there was good reason. And it wasn't because he was an unquestioning drone of an assistant. 

Tom was watching him, staring at his eyes. Percy diverted his attention to Dumbledore, asking, "Is there anything specific I should do?" He heard a noise, and shifted his gaze back to Tom, seeing the faint, half-smile. They stood like that, eyeing each other for a moment. Then Percy's chin jutted out, and he turned his eyes back to Dumbledore, asking, "Sir?"

Dumbledore, too, was now wearing a smile that made him appear less weary. "I informed Tom that he could study with you…Arithmacy, Muggle Studies, and such. Minerva is working with him on History of Magic, but…if you wish, you could work with him on that a bit. I understand such an endeavor might persuade him to sleep," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. Percy flushed appropriately on his classmates' behalf, even though he himself had never fallen asleep in Binn's classroom.

A moment of silent filled the room as he considered his choices. Percy adored Arithmacy. But, it would probably serve Tom better to study history. If McGonagall was working on the magical aspect of history, he could hardly expect to do better himself. But he also had a history of studying Muggles. His knowledge in that area ran from the ludicrous, from his father, to the reasonable, from classes at Hogwarts. He had taken the classes to obtain as well rounded an education as possible, but Percy couldn't deny that his father had played a role in his decision on Muggle electives. His father had been so proud when he took classes in Muggle Studies. 

He began to say what he planned, but caught out of the corner of his eye Tom lean in expectantly, and Percy a bit petulantly shut his mouth. Giving Dumbledore a small smile, he said, "I know what to do with him, sir." To Tom, without explaining, he simply said, "Follow me, please." He expected Tom to glower, but instead the boy paused, and then smiled back at him calmly. 

Percy couldn't fathom what that meant, but refused to falter in his step. He wouldn't succumb to Tom's little mental games. 

***

Frustration was the word. I remembered what _that_ felt like, as if I'd experienced it often enough in the past I couldn't remember. It was quickly reentering my realm of experiences, and Percy was the present target. 'Oh, I'm not going to _tell _you where we are going or what we're doing, because I'm the special helper and you're not.' 

Prat.

I recalled that word as well. Memory seemed to have a remarkable capacity for retaining anything negative. 

But outwardly I said nothing, letting him ponder on my seeming serenity. I followed him through the maze of corridors, ignoring the glances of curiosity we kept getting. Everything seemed to melt into one hazy smear before my eyes, anyway. By now I was so drained I was about to ask if I could just go to back the greasy haired Snape's rooms, or anywhere I could lay down, when a girl's voice interrupted.

My eyes lifted to see a tall girl with long, curly hair rushing unsteadily towards us. I glanced at Percy, seeing his expression lift and then sink into a concerned expression. 

"Penny, what is it? You shouldn't be up," he scolded as he took the girl into his arms. She was shaking, small tears dripping from her eyes. 

"Percy, I – it's…its eyes," she sobbed quietly. "You can't I– imagine, it – it was so, so hor – hor - horrible!" she gasped quietly against him. "Mum and Dad and Callie are gone, I – I told them I was fine, and I was, but it – it came back, in the dorm –" 

"No it didn't," he said gently, but firmly. Quite firmly. He slowly turned her to where I couldn't see either of their faces, only hearing their voices. 

Still, their body language communicated what I couldn't see in their faces. I saw him shift, moving his hands from around her waist to either her face or neck. 

"Penny, shh…its dead. I can promise you, it's gone." His voice wafted behind to reach me.

"Did you kill it?" I heard the rising hysteria in her voice, intrigued over what they were speaking of. She continued, not pushing away from him but speaking as if enmeshed in a broiling anger and terror inside. "Did you kill it and see it die? No? Than how do you know? _How do you know?" _

A pause stretched where I could hear the faint rustling of her nervous feet, and then Percy said quietly, "No, I didn't kill it. I never saw it, and I didn't kill it." A strained note escaped his throat, as tight as his back appeared through his sweater.

It was over his sister, I realized. And the monster that I had apparently destroyed. That was what they were discussing.  I cocked my head in further interest, craning it enough to see him kiss her forehead long and tenderly. 

Ah. Girlfriend. The one that had been in the infirmary. I stepped back, further away from the tender moment, not wanting to witness it. 

He kept speaking. "But I assure you, it's dead. I promise. If I could prove it to you, I would. But take my word for it. Dumbledore said it was gone. Harry saw it dead." A swallow there, I heard. "He…he found out where it was and saw it dead and gone. Nothing can hurt you, I swear. If there was anything, I…"

_What? He'd protect her like his sister?_ I thought, but didn't give it voice. 

"But there isn't anything, so you don't even have to contemplate it. All right?" he finished. 

"Come back to Ravenclaw with me," she said. "No one will care if you're in there. Please?"

"I – I can't…" I heard his voice trail off, and then he twisted to face me. I think this was the first time Penny realized I existed. I let my eyes trail from his face to hers, then back as he continued speaking. "Tom, would you rather go back to Professor Snape's rooms, and lie down now? You must be exhausted."

I paused, not feeling especially generous, and then answered, "Actually, I'm not tired. I'd rather work. You can imagine, in my condition, I'm not in the mood to waste time…but, if you'd rather go with your girlfriend, of course I understand." I gave her a smile, and then added, "She seems to need you. I can read on my own…the librarian I'm sure would be helpful in picking out the right books."

I saw him pause, and then I added, "You can trust me. Right?"

His eyes narrowed, and he said, "It isn't that."

"It isn't?"

"No. I promised Dumbledore I'd help you. I'm _trying_ to help you. And…" he turned back to Penny then, a regretful expression on his face. "Penny, I can't right now. I gave my word to help Tom…oh…this is Tom Riddle, by the way."

_Classy introduction_, I thought.

He continued. "Anyway, he's…well…you see, Lockhart cast a spell on him. Obliviate. I promised Dumbledore that I would help him. But I promise you, after I do that, and check on Fred and George and Ron, I'll come and stay all night at Ravenclaw with you."

Her eyes blazed, her voice still trembling. She was still lost in her emotional haze. "You _promised_? You _gave your word_? Well, heavens Mr. Weasley, you can't go back on _that_! That wouldn't be right or noble or fit in with your bloody ideals. So sorry that I had to go and have my life almost taken, that must have put a cramp in your obligations. Next time, maybe you'll want to be in the library with me when I'm about to be killed, not out on the bloody Quidditch pitch to watch a stupid game!"

She backed away, hurt and frenzied, so loud that others stopped to stare. "No, just forget it, Percival. Don't fit me into your busy schedule. And don't even think to change it for _once_. I don't want to be another obligation to you!" She turned and stomped off, then switched to running unsteadily. Behind her I could hear her trying to stifle her sobs. 

Percy turned pale rather than flushed as he stared after her. After a long moment, he turned to me, said quietly, "Library," and walked away. I made no comment, following him.

***

"I wasn't trying to upset him," Hermione said quietly. She was standing in the Gryffindor Common Rooms, staring up the stairs where Ron had just stomped off. She bit her lip, turning to see Harry watching her. Annoyed with everything right then, she added, "He has to face it sometime, Harry. Playing chess and talking about Chudley Cannons isn't helping."

"No, they don't make him yell and run away," Harry said back. "I see how your way is better." 

"Harry, think practically. He's avoiding the issue. He's bottling it up inside of him, avoiding it. It isn't healthy," Hermione threw another look at the door. 

Harry looked ready to argue, then sighed. "Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it now, Hermione. Don't push him."

"I don't push anyone," Hermione snapped back. Then, seeing Harry's expression, she glared for a moment before shifting her expression downward. "It's for his own good. If only he weren't so stubborn…" _I was only trying to help_, she thought.

"_He's_ stubborn?" Harry said with a small smile on his face.

Hermione spun at that and retorted, "I don't think you, of all people, should find that amusing." Then she examined his face and inquired, "How are you doing? It was ridiculous of you to go in there like that, but…thank you." Her voice trembled slightly but she regained composure quickly. 

Harry looked uncomfortable. "Don't thank me. I didn't do anything."

He wasn't running away, at least. Hermione huffed out a sigh, explaining, "Harry, you can't possibly blame yourself. What happened to Ginny was…well, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have done anything else. It's like I was saying to Ron, it just –"

"Hermione, shouldn't you lie down and rest?" Harry interrupted her.

She brushed him off, ignoring his indefinable tone. "Don't interrupt. As I was saying, if you think about it rationally, though I know that is difficult under the circumstances –"

"I know, I know, it isn't my fault," he mumbled, interrupting again. His eyes darted away from hers as he added, "Anyway, I should go…see how Ron is doing. Go lie down, all right? I'll check up on you later." As if Snape's class had just ended, he bolted away. 

Sighing in exasperation, Hermione stood in the center of the room, her arms folded as she watched Harry with narrowed eyes. Long after he left, she still stood there, not heading or looking in the direction of the girls' dorms. She didn't want to lie down. She didn't want to lose control and sleep…she'd slept enough. Locked away, Petrified, from those eyes…

_Stop it, _she commanded herself. _It's over. It's dead. There's nothing to fear, though of course it's reasonable that there are some residual memories. They don't mean a thing, and they shouldn't be paid attention to. In time, they should fade. _

At least she owned up to her feelings and rationalized them out, unlike _some _people.

But still, the dorms she didn't head for. Instead, she left the Gryffindor tower, heading with a stiff but certain gait to the library. She couldn't think of any place to go, and she just found herself heading that way. 

***

Three books Percy had spread out on the library table. _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ by Wilhelm Wigworthy, _Muggles Who Notice_ by Blenheim Stalk, and _The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why Muggles Prefer Not to Know_ by Professor Mordicus Egg. Besides that were two scrolls, one for each of them. Percy's had nice, neat notes diligently outlined in his carefully scripted hand. Tom's followed an outline that Percy couldn't quite decipher, and his writing was more haphazard and oddly angled in appearance. He seemed quite annoyed that the left palm of his hand kept getting smudged, but lacked the strength to curl and lift his hand differently. 

They had been at it for roughly forty minutes, mostly with Percy lecturing. He now paused, wishing he could have brought a drink into the library since his throat by now was completely dry. He tried to swallow, and asked Tom, "Any questions so far?"

Tom nodded briefly. He'd seemed to shove his ego aside, and Percy chose to do the same. It helped that he was the one giving the knowledge, Percy had to admit. Tom also clearly had a keen and ready mind that, when it didn't make Percy feel on edge or cornered, Percy admired and even enjoyed to be around.

Examining his paper, Tom asked, "Why do some people possess magical abilities and others do not?"

Of course he would start with a question Percy couldn't answer. Clearing his throat for a different reason now, Percy said simply, "Nobody knows. It's often inherited, hence there being very old wizarding families, but even in those lines one might be born with little or no magical ability. Conversely, one with no magical ancestors might be born a – Hermione!"

"A Hermione?" Tom sounded confused, but Percy didn't answer him right away. His eyes were busy looking sternly at the figure that had just entered the room. Ron's friend stepped inside, glancing at him and wincing slightly. She then approached, looking as if caught. 

As she should. Percy gave her a brief look of reproach. "Hermione, what do you think you're doing here? You've barely been out of the infirmary half a day."

"Perhaps it's the eyes." Percy had almost forgotten Tom sitting behind him until he cut in with that. Turning, both he and Hermione stared at him. 

"Who are you?" Hermione asked, jutting her chin out a bit, eyes wary. 

Tom smiled briefly. "An excellent question."

At that, Hermione gave a glance at Percy, but Tom continued. "My name is Tom Riddle." Percy saw Hermione's eyes widen briefly, and he wondered if she were simply taken with his charge. The thought decidedly wasn't pleasant. 

Clearing his throat, Percy added, "He's…he was Obliviated by Lockhart." Odd…she got a faint flush on her face as he mentioned that name, along with a wince. But it cleared too quickly for him to say anything.

"I see." Her eyes turned back to Tom, meeting the blue coloring with her steady brown. "That must be dreadful."

"Smart girl," Tom said wryly. 

"Do you…attend Hogwarts?" she questioned further.

Again, the faint smile upon his face. "Maybe. Inquisitive and bright. Perhaps you might figure that out for me." 

Hermione gave him an odd look at that, or one that seemed peculiar to Percy, as he cut in. "He really isn't supposed to speak of it, Hermione. And you shouldn't be up and about. Did Ron and Harry just let you leave?"

Her eyes leapt to Percy's face at that, and she quickly covered for her friends. "No, they thought I went to lie down…"

"They should have known better, I see." Tom's voice again rang out softly, indifferently. When glanced at, he seemed to be merely making an observational comment. 

Again, Hermione was quick to defend. "They have their own worries. And they trust me…we trust each other."

"To break that trust?" Tom smiled, and then smoothed over his statement before she could go on. "I merely jest. Loyal as well. Your friends are lucky. I hope they appreciate it." 

An awkward pause seemed to permeate, and then Hermione said in a tone mirroring the pause, "They do." 

To Percy then, she gave a brief smile and replied, "Thanks for your concern. I'll just take out a few books to…keep my mind busy. Harry and Ron wouldn't tell me any of the homework I missed. They said I was mad, and I would have to go at least a week before catching up. A _week_!" It was evident the thought horrified her. She shook her head. "Anyway, I'll just be off…" She turned then to Tom, cocked her head and gave him a hesitant but true smile as well. "Nice to meet you, Tom." 

He returned it, saying, "Likewise."

***

Watching Hermione leave, I had the oddest sense inside. Something was nagging…she seemed familiar, in a way. Perhaps I had known a Hermione. Or, possibly I knew her specifically…but that didn't make any sense, since she didn't recognize me. Perhaps I knew of her? None of those possibilities I formulated revealed any memory that might make any of them right or wrong.

I had a throbbing headache again. To Percy, I said, "I think perhaps I would like to lie down now, as well." He didn't answer. Wincingly, I raised my eyes to find him staring off, not seeming to have heard a word I uttered. Raising my voice, I said, "Percy? I'd really like to lay down now." Still he didn't face me. The room felt faintly as if it were spinning, and I quickly sat down. Placing my head in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut, I breathed deeply. Sweat began to form on my brow, little beads that seeped down my fingers placed against my temples. In a voice tinged with strain I heard myself say, "Percy, really, this isn't amusing. I'll just leave –" A sudden spasm wracked my mind. It felt as if the entire muscle vibrated, or clenched repeatedly. What was squeezed out was a flood of anger, an almost panicked sense of being restrained. I desired to leave, and he seemed to be refusing me, not even listening to me, as if I didn't even exist –

Any sense of rationality fled, emotion overflowing as if he had issued me some great blow that knocked a gaping hole through the barricade I had formed inside. My fingers curled, digging fingernails painfully into the stark, sweating, pulsing skin; it was an image that refused to budge, consuming all of my consciousness.

***

Percy had stared at Hermione's retreating back, feeling more discomforted the further the girl retreated. It was more than the reproach he felt at Ron for allowing his friend to be up and about after her ordeal. No, it was rather something Tom had said, or did, that was now nagging at him. Percy couldn't quite place it; Tom hadn't said anything rude or done anything intrusive to the girl. But still, as he so often felt around Tom, was a sense that he was missing something. The possibility that Tom was missing it as well, having lost his memory, brought only marginal comfort. 

Percy heard a faint voice beside him, little more than a breath of air. He frowned, suspecting it was Riddle…and he allowed himself a long moment before turning around. He hadn't heard what the boy had said, but – baring catastrophe – Percy would have preferred to remain lost in his own thoughts, trying to find some path through the murkiness that pervaded his mind of late.

But, that wasn't what he'd promised the Headmaster. Briefly feeling a flash of disappointment in himself, Percy sighed and began to turn when he heard Tom speaking again. It was low but fast, raspy as if his throat was constricted, the words jumbling together so deciphering a coherent sentence wasn't possible. Still, what Percy did hear flew at him like a brick, hammering through his chest.

"Muggles did it…deserved…Mudblood…"

Percy felt every drop of blood drain from his face, his chest chilling as his heart squeezed and beat rapidly. Shock was his first reaction upon hearing that word cross Tom's lips. Reason tried to break through, logic saying that Tom was simply having a fit of memory, and had spat the word out. From the appearance of Tom, it seemed most likely…his face was almost gray, his eyes glazed through his tensed fingers as his entire body shook. He seemed almost helpless, but still it took Percy a moment before reaching out to him. He did so gingerly, hesitantly, gripping the boy's shoulders as he stared into his eyes, calling his name. The blue he met was dulled and unresponsive, but swirling with emotion that made Percy almost wish he could back up again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11: Possibly Worth the Wait**

_Mudbloods… deserved it… _

The words didn't have to be repeated. They rang continuously in Percy's ears as he hauled Tom to his feet and rushed him to the infirmary, giving stern looks at any who stared.

As usual, the infirmary was busy in every sense but décor. Percy threaded his way through, depositing Tom where he was told. Tom, for his part, let himself be guided, an unhealthy sheen in his eyes. As Madame Pomfrey approached and bustled over Tom, Percy kept himself plastered against the wall, feeling chilled. The energy the septic setting gave off unnerved him. Tom soon seemed to be suffering a similar fate. As soon as Pomfrey touched him Tom visibly tensed, snapping out of his daze. His eyes wide and unblinking, he clearly hesitated to lie back. Percy took a long look at the other boy. He's afraid to sleep. It made sense. From what Percy had seen, Tom's mind wracked merciless havoc upon itself. To lose any further control, even in the natural state of sleep, had to be terrifying.

A young Ravenclaw across the room stirred and Nurse Pomfrey automatically turned in the student's direction. However, something – and Percy had a guess at what - stopped her. She turned back to Tom, then Percy, then the first year, her loose tendrils of hair whipping her cheeks. Finally, in a frazzled voice she said, "Percy, could you see what Cho needs? If it's serious, just, erm, stay there and I'll come."  
Regardless of the request, Percy wavered long enough for a final, cautious look at his charge. Tom was busy drinking about seven potions Pomfrey was laying out for him. His face showed clear dissatisfaction, but no real pain. The chilling fog had also lifted from his eyes.

"A-hem." The pointed noise from Pomfrey snapped Percy to attention.

Treading across the hospital wing, he came up to the little girl. She had large black eyes that peered inquisitively up at him as a small lip protruded dubiously. Awkwardly giving her a smile he felt formal but Fred called corpse-like, he asked, "Are you in need of something?"

She paused so long he asked even stiffer, "did you understand me?"

"Yes."

He felt her studying him, not deeply, but curiously. He opened his mouth again, giving a furtive glance at Pomfrey. The girl followed his line of sight and asked, "Is he going to die?"

"No." The answer come out quite firmly, surprising Percy. Merlin, his nerves were rattled. In a softer tone he began again with, "he's just exhausted –"

"He looks like death. I've seen it in pictures." She gave a solemn nod. Her providing evidence in support of her declaration was similar to Penny and most Ravenclaws he knew. That brought a smile to his face as he asked, "May I ask your name?"

"Cho Chang," she said simply, and then added, "I already know who you are. You've got the Gryffindor prefect badge on, so you must be Percy Weasley."

Was he still wearing the badge? Percy's fingers went unconsciously to touch the gleaming silver. He shouldn't be surprised that he was. Really, he wore it all the time at Hogwarts. It was proper procedure. And, well… he just liked to. But it now made him self-conscious, and his voice gained some stiffness as he repeated, "did you need anything?"

She gave a small nod. "Some more water would be nice."

"I'd have to ask Madame Pomfrey if that is possible," Percy quickly said.

"For _water_?"

Bristling, he snapped, "Well I don't know what's wrong or what's going on. You want me to just blindly agree to something that may seem harmless when taking the time to ask a simple question –"

"You know, I'm not that thirsty…" She ducked further down on the bed, preparing for sleep or looking for the nearest exit away from him.

He was also glad for the excuse to leave. Giving her a small nod, he spun and returned to Tom's bed. Located there now were Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape. Tom himself was miserably holding a potion. One hand was resting on his stomach, and Percy winced in sympathy. Pomfrey might be effective, but her remedies were sometimes – often – less than pleasant. Percy felt guilty, as though Tom's current state was somehow due to Percy's inability to look out for him. Automatically Percy went to Tom's side, offering to place the glass upon the table. Tom seemed only too eager for a break from the medicine.

Professor Snape drew Percy's attention then with his familiar, if undesirable, voice. "Perhaps Mr. Weasley should take a break from assisting right now, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore shook his head, eyes calm as he carefully considered both boys. "No, Severus. I would rather do something a bit different. The exact opposite, to be right." A hint of a smile was somehow visible behind his beard. He pulled a chair up, lowering his body to Tom's level by sitting. He motioned for Snape to join him, and nodded at the glass upon the table. "Drink up, Mr. Riddle – if you can, I know, it is horrid – and Percy, would you please begin with what you saw?"

Feeling rather put on the spot, Percy's mind blanked. His jaw didn't work, and he nearly flushed as Snape's eyes rolled at his delay. Turning to Dumbledore for assistance, he found the Headmaster was not even focusing on him. Dumbledore's eyes were situated on Tom, who was cringingly sipping the potion. For one odd moment he reminded Percy of Ginny. His little sister had always worn the saddest puppy-eyes whenever their Mum had handed her a tonic, and then changed her expression to a stubborn scowl when the ruse didn't work. And yet, she never gave up on the effort to evade medicine, merely trying to perfect her pathetic appearance as their eldest sibling, Bill, had used with many successful outcomes. She'd been getting more efficient at it. In the last few years, Percy thought she'd surpassed even the twins in utilizing that gimmick in every area other than their mum's medical administrations. When any of them were sick, their mum wouldn't budge for anything. Still, Ginny had -

"Miming the experience is not working for me, Mr. Weasley. Care to explain your smile?"

Snape's voice was thin and pointed, jabbing at Percy and deflating the warm bubble of that memory until it lay flat and was discarded by his mind. Back he was to the infirmary, where his most recent failure lay before him. Tom looked pale – deathly pale. Without thinking, Percy shifted his gaze to the one who had snapped him back to this reality.

Snape's face was positively grey, a strained, pinched look to it as he held himself at an awkward angle. More puzzled than concerned, Percy squinted unconsciously, trying to decipher what could cause Snape to display such blatant pain. Before he made any sense of it, though, Snape turned his head, effectively blocking any clear view Percy might have had of him, while giving him a vicious glare from the one eye within Percy's sight. Probably it was the result of a first year's failed homework assignment.

Percy opened his mouth to apologize for staring when Tom's voice rang out.

"You look dreadful."

All three turned to Tom, and Snape's eyes widened briefly, and then seemed to glare internally. In avoiding Percy's eyes, he'd given Tom a clear view of his face. Tom was looking back at the Potions Master with seeming indifference. A moment passed, and then Tom reached his hand up to his own face, indicating. "The shadows right there, I mean. And the pallor? It –"

"I know."

Tom shrugged. "Only making sure."

At that point, Dumbledore raised his hand. "Tom, I'm sure Severus appreciates your concern. But right now, I would like to hear from Percy." Tom looked sullen for a moment, and then shrugged again, picking up his glass. Such behavior seemed odd of his charge, and Percy gave Tom a quizzical stare as Tom went on to speak.

"Fine by me." Then, as if realizing how petulant he'd sounded, he added, "Forgive me, Percy. I don't know why I intruded. I would say it was out of character..."

Percy almost laughed. True, Tom utterly irritated him at times. But in other situations, like this one, with riling Snape and mocking his situation, he put Percy at ease.

And then, at other times, he was saying Mudbloods deserved to die.

Percy's snort of laughter sobered into a shiver. Staring at Tom now, he couldn't image him saying those words. Certainly, Tom was a bit condescending at times, but… it was such a horrid thing to say. Surely he hadn't – he wouldn't –

He was just paranoid because Penny was so recently recovered. Dumbledore trusted Tom. Didn't he?  
Suddenly Snape seemed like an easier object to rest his gaze upon, and the world a much less reasonable place for it.

Clearing his throat, knowing all three were awaiting his account, Percy began. "Well, Tom and I were in the library. I thought history might be a good subject to start with. Muggle history, mostly, since Professor McGonagall is working on the history of magic. Well, plain Muggle history and some history of Muggle interactions with magic -"

"Which books?" Snape interrupted. He lacked Dumbledore's ability to make such a cut-in not feel intrusive, but somehow Percy didn't mind that time. Perhaps it was due to Snape's intent gaze.  
_"Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles, Muggles Who Notice, _and _The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why Muggles Prefer Not to Know."_

Snape and Dumbledore shared a look that Percy couldn't decipher. It didn't seem Tom could, either. They in turn gave each other frustrated looks, before Percy continued. "Anyway, then Hermione came into the library."

Again, Dumbledore was regarding Tom. Riddle, for his part, was watching Percy keenly.

"I spoke with her briefly, telling her she shouldn't be up and about just yet. I introduced her to Tom… well, he began the introduction himself, really –"

"How did he accomplish that?" Snape asked.

"He, well, he said that maybe what bothered her was the eyes." Percy had trouble collecting his words for a moment, remembering Penny. With three pairs of cunning eyes watching, it took him a moment to regain his footing. "I think he was recalling the fear Penny told me a few hours earlier. Of the – her accident. And then, after she'd left, he got that distanced look again and said that Mudbloods deserved to... erm, die." His voice couldn't do the words justice. Tom was the only to look surprised; Snape and Dumbledore wore stone masks. Upset again, Percy stalled. How much detail should he give? Dumbledore was no help; he was still calmly regarding Tom. Percy felt a surge of anger. Was he supposed to just say anything and everything?

Well, was he?

Surely not. Right?

At times, Dumbledore's methods were too much for Percy. Yes, the Headmaster looked quite calm and in control, but… well… he didn't make sense.

_Calm down,_ Percy told himself, breathing deeply. He respected Dumbledore – as a Headmaster he'd given Percy much support. His voice more certain than he felt, Percy finished with, "And then, just after Hermione left, he seemed in pain and keeled over."

Tom's eyes flicked downward from facing Dumbledore and then Percy, a smile on his face. Before Snape's mouth expelled words, Dumbledore rose and said, "Thank you, Percy. I have gotten enough. Tom, you will remain here. Severus, please come with me." And with that, the Headmaster rose and left the infirmary, the potions master trailing behind him, watched by Percy and his charge.

Percy sighed. "Well. That seemed…"

"Pointless?"

"Uninformative for us."

"And that's not synonymous with what I said?"

"It's a tactful way to say it."

"Which is, in this case, akin to a frightened way. Perhaps not even consciously anymore, it's become such a part of you."

"I have no problem with ceasing censoring myself on certain things. Or some persons."

_That_ _smile._ "Such as?"

_You._ "… Lucius Malfoy."

"Do tell."

"Well, for once thing, he's a pretentious arse of the highest degree. Two, if he had an independent thought aside from whatever elitist bigotry his family instilled in him his head might implode, which would cause serious bodily damage since it's already and always firmly shoved up his bum." Heat was rising from his chest, flushing his face and feeling good.

Tom was rising, tugging gently at his sleeve to pull him out of the infirmary, voice the same low tone, smoothly rolling with amusement. "And Professor Snape? I saw the look you wanted to give him."  
"He's not nearly efficient enough to warrant his atrocious classroom behavior. It's me and not the cauldron's shoddy craftsmanship, indeed."

"And your esteemed Headmaster?"

"The man gave a litany of sock classifications my first year – wait, where are you taking me?"

"A birth canal of sorts. Do put that look away, I didn't mean in the literal sense." Sidestepping a group of students Tom paused, eyes focusing on something internal as he glanced about before hurrying down an unused corridor, stopping only at the dribbles of water forming under the door to a girls' lavatory.

"… You know, the school can equip you with a counselor." Tom wasn't paying him any mind, eyes still intensely focused on something Percy was certain he didn't want to see, but was frustrated he couldn't nonetheless. "Tom?"

"Quiet." The abrupt authoritativeness of that single word seemed to surprise them both, and he added, "I'm trying to think."

"Don't bother to let me know how you're getting on with that, really."

Whether he was angry at whatever he was musing on or Percy's commentary, Percy wasn't sure. In either case, Tom didn't respond, just narrowing his eyes and entering the lavatory before Percy could stop him. Sighing, Percy looked down the hall to see no one about, then stood in the doorway. "Get out. This is against the rules, and worse, it's just weird. Come on."

"It happened here." The tone… if there was one thing that truly spoke to Percy about Tom it was his voice. It was generally as controlled as his face, masked and carefully constructed, but there were often layers peeking through. As if his face was a thin though stony shield, truly just as deep as his skin. But his voice reverberated depths, volcanic earthy levels cooled at the top, coming out of a face that was just a young exterior of such a natural phenomenon.

"What happened?" Percy slides slowly in, one foot at a time, one hand still clasping the doorknob as if it were a lifeline.

The slick ground dampens the baggy hems of Tom's pants as he leans against the sink, responding to Percy while looking at his reflection in the mirror. He resembled the surroundings. There were odd cracks and discoloring surrounding the fixtures, as if something rebelled against being repaired. "I was here when someone whose aim as unfortunate as his aptitude Obliviated me."

Curious and nauseated, Percy stepped closer, abandoning the knob, his leaving fingers brushing the door closed. Tom continued on, pacing a bit, hands held out to frame the snapshot pictured in his mind. "I was here, the boy with a scar there… the girl –"

"Ginny."

"Ginny. Quite. Ginny was here, with your brother, and my overzealous Obliviator was hereabouts."  
"Was not." The voice was too whiny to be Tom's, and definitely not his own. Both he and Tom turned to a back stall, surprise plain across their faces as the ghost of a young girl half-poked out a door, glaring at them. "If you're going to disturb me you could at least get things right. It's not like you met me already, to need to block out the horrid details."

Tom recovered first. "Who are you?"

A plaintive glare through glasses met him. "Do you want my name just to laugh at me?"

"I can't recall ever requiring a name to laugh at someone before. I can't recall laughing at someone, period. So it'd be reasonable, given that truth, to assume it's not in my nature, isn't it?"

The girl's brow furrowed beneath her bangs, her shimmering arms unfolding from being crossed against her chest. "I don't know. Do I know you?" Her eyes suddenly grew large – owled – behind the spectacles, her voice a breathy pout. "Tom. Are – are you a ghost, then?"The calmly polite exterior of Tom's melted for a second, a hunger in his eyes taking hold before retreating behind the rocks again. "You know me."

"You were here that night." The girl came closer, floating her body in a crumpled form on the floor. "When the girl died… don't know why they end up here. I thought maybe she'd stay but she was already gone before I could ask. I was hiding, I couldn't see much, just that it was that nasty girl, but I thought she might be better when she was dead. I couldn't see her, though. Not really her. Just her body –"

"You know me. Yes? Tell me, who are you?" His voice was thinly clothing a sharp point, drawing Percy to his side though all his reason told him Tom was fairly harmless in this state.

Her chin trembled. "You don't remember me? But you… you spoke with me. You took me to the dance, the night I –" Her choked sobs and his and Tom's astonishment drowned out her last words. All their voices blurred together in bewilderment.

"I did?"

"You did?"

"He _did_."

"She surely is mistaken. I mean, I'm clearly not... good enough... for her."

"She said you did. But, perhaps she is lying."

"I do_ not_ lie!"

"There must be an explanation."

"Which is?"

"I. Can't. Bloody. Remember."

"You don't remember taking me?"

"You saw me get Obliviated!"

"I thought you'd remember that… nobody ever remembers Moaning Myrtle. But I thought better of you, Tom Riddle, even though you were a Slytherin. I thought better!" With a final wail, she dived down into the toilet, water exploding over both of them.

"… so you took –"

"Shut. Up."

Percy wrung the end of his shirt out. "No need to snap, I'm sure she has a very sweet personality somewhere. In fact, ormph –" Tom's hand clamped around his mouth, silencing him. Surprised at the contact Percy didn't struggle, remaining quiet long enough to hear a scurry behind them. Turning, they saw the door slightly askew. Both racing towards it, they peered out, seeing no one.

Feeling as if both their privacies had been invaded, Percy turned, mirroring Tom's grim image. "We have a name."

"Library."

\\\\\\\\\\\\

_Riddle. Tom Riddle. The diary – Ginny's diary, apparently… oh, I'm going to KILL them!_

After her illuminating yet odd meeting with Tom and Percy, Hermione had spent the rest of the day searching down Harry and Ron. Rationally, if they weren't in the commons, they'd be on the Quidditch pitch, or at the Great Hall. When neither turned up, she inquired of a sickly-looking Fred Weasley of their whereabouts –

"I don't know."

And of Neville,

"Oh, oh Hermione, I'm so glad you're awake! I don't know about Harry or Ron, but I –"

Sighing, she'd said abruptly, "Thanks, Neville. I'll talk with you later, all right?" Feeling a bit guilty for the quick exit, she'd spun and headed back to Gryffindor even more annoyed. Of course, when she was looking for them, they'd choose to be someplace other than their usual hangouts.

When at the entrance, she paused, taking a deep breath. Her emotions were still rattled. She was desperate to find Harry and Ron, but if she was in a foul mood – or worse, simply emotional and near tears – well, it wasn't something she wanted them to fuss over. They had gone through enough. No, she was resolved to be calm and reasonable. Honestly, it was hours after she'd awoke, and she knew she was fine. Yes.

Once inside, though, tears sprang to her eyes. It was horrible. It was – it felt…_ horrible._

The common room, with its bright fire and warm coloring, always eased her. Stepping inside her House's private rooms, where Ron and Harry lived and they all studied – well, she studied and they mostly faked it – and where Percy gave his Prefect talk and Fred and George played tricks and made everyone smile even during exams and Angelina and Katie smiled at her when they all rose earliest out of any in Gryffindor and Ginny had just begun to carve out a niche but now never would and she herself had nearly never seen it again –

Her mind rambled on.

She felt…_ violated._ Something had been taken she hadn't ever wanted to give up. Hogwarts just was different now that death had championed its way into Gryffindor. It was colder, more suspicious than intriguing. Staring about, she realized that she was bereft of the pure joy of her home.

_Tom Riddle is fortunate to forget, if his past makes him feel anything like I do now,_ she thought with a sudden irrationality and bitterness she couldn't explain away. Simply she stood there, feeling anything but. Tears didn't fall; she felt them sit in her eyes as a sound mercifully broke through her thoughts.

"Hermione?"

She turned and the sound and fiercely hugged the speaker of her name. Ron gave a muffled sound of surprise, stiffening in her embrace. For a moment she didn't care. Then, embarrassment and guilt rose inside of her, and she quickly pushed herself upright. Oh, she was so stupid and selfish –

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ron's voice was careful, but clearly concerned. How could she have been irritated with him just minutes ago? "You look like death…"

Oh, right. That's how. He was the most insensitive, horrible pr- who was then staring back with an added layer of guilt.

"Oh, no, Ron, it's okay. I know what you meant. I mean, after a second I knew you didn't mean…" She felt inept for her mistake. His face had collapsed at his own insensitive remark. She had a good idea it wasn't just her that was on his mind. Guilt again filled her. The ceaseless wavering of emotions was dizzying, but she tried to ignore it and focus on what help. "Where's Harry?"

"He's coming. Dumbledore wanted to see him later, but he's coming back here first. We were looking into, you know. The Chamber." Ron's voice didn't break, though he gave very obvious focus on the word Chamber.

Hermione felt a bit awkward. Part of her wanted to pry every ounce of information Ron had on the whole event out of him. She thirsted for the explanation that would balance the months she'd lain frozen, and the loss of Ginny. True, she hadn't known Ginny well, but having herself deprived of the chance – and more, knowing she was her best friend's sister – was a reality that demanded a justification. And maybe learning of it all would show a way to ease Ron's pain and Harry's guilt.

But Ron looked exhausted. Not knowing what else to do she said, "You should go to sleep."

"I don't want to." The voice was sure, as if reveling in a certainty of something.

She was tired, too. Couldn't he see she was trying to help? She wouldn't give in to his baiting. She wouldn't. Well…_ not really._ "I didn't say you wanted to, I said you should. Which you –"

"Should. I know. Contrary to what Snape says, I don't need to be told things a million times. And you should be in bed, too." Emotion was quickly rising to his eyes.

The outlet of the quibble overrode her hesitation on his slight decency of saying she should be in bed, too. "I didn't tell you a million. Don't exaggerate."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"I didn't!"

"Oh? Don't exaggerate sounds pretty bloody –"

"Shut it." That voice caused both of their heads to turn.

Harry had just entered, carrying with him a somber quietness that chilled the heated exchange between her and Ron. Staring at him, Hermione couldn't help but compare him to the Gryffindor commons – to Hogwarts itself, really - and how it now looked. How they all looked.

"Where have you both been?" She stepped back to let Harry by, but none of them went far inside, remaining huddled near the exit.

Ron answered. "Library. Yes, we do know the way. D'you know, once again, it wasn't nearly as informative as the girls lavatory. I'm not sure which is more disturbing, that fact, or who we saw in there."  
Ignoring the library jab, she asked, "What happened, then? Who did you see?"

"The library was a bust as Ron said, so we thought we might as well go to a direct source. And since Percy's not exactly giving with any information, we followed him and Tom." Harry leaned in more with a quiet intensity. "Moaning Myrtle knew him."

Hermione tried to sort it out in her mind. "Why would they go… he's retracing his steps. That's where he last was with his memory."

"He's probably better off without his memory. Myrtle said that he took her to a dance. A dance. With Myrtle." Ron shivered at the thought, Harry not denying the same sentiment at the thought. She couldn't, really, either.

Instead she said, "So Tom and Myrtle must've gone to school together. Well, that's obvious. Tom thought Hagrid opened the Chamber, Myrtle was killed by what was in the Chamber, they all must've gone to school together."

"Hagrid's been cleared though nobody else has been publicly caught for it. Tom was in the Chamber, and now we know he was close with both Myrtle and Ginny, the only two who didn't make it." Harry's voice was grim while speaking. "One of us should probably speak with Hagrid. Ron? See what he knows. And Myrtle…"

Ron nodded. "Harry, she seems to respond best to you." A wincing nod was the reply, and they both then turned to Hermione.

"I can go find whatever you both missed at the library."

\\\\\\\\\

Upon entering his mansion, Lucius wasted no time in discarding his cloak, throwing it upon his servant and sending the creature off with the simple word, "leave." His House Elf tremblingly nodded at the command, and then fled as fast as he could with the discarded cloak. Without even watching, Lucius added, "And it had better not drag on the floor." Minor shuffling and a faint whimper were heard as the elf no doubt redoubled its efforts to obey his command. Lucius truly cared little. His threat was nothing more than procrastination. But, it couldn't last forever – he had to get on with his duties.

Duty. Such a fascinating word. It vibrated in the mouth.

He entered his study. The room seemed innocent enough when others saw it. It wasn't guarded with crossbones, hidden in walls or possessing a trap entrance. No, any could enter, though his family and servants knew well enough he didn't appreciate it. Why he disapproved it, they hadn't a clue. Narcissa claimed it to be a male trait, to have a space all his own, and Lucius suspected many agreed. The room was elegant and formal with ebony bookcases and a stone fireplace, simple leather couches and scenic paintings. It was rather…'_dull_, father' as Draco said. Unhidden and plain, and therefore not seeming nearly so excitingly secretive.

Simple psychology. He would not needlessly, egotistically challenge others to catch him. Unlike some.  
Alone in his study, Lucius uncloaked his more questionable objects, bringing forth only the ones he needed right then. The rest remained hidden in the illusion of the mundane.

Placing a small box upon the table, Lucius slides the engraved pin across the top, unlocking the glossy ebony casing. Taking out his wand, he mutters a spell, causing a shimmering, gooey blue shield to appear in the fireplace. Taking out the red triangle from the box, inhaling its champagne scent, he tosses it into the center of the web. Suddenly the air about him felt damp and heavy, his ears popping and moisture forming on his brow as the muffler took hold. Experimental magic – replete with side effects, but without restrictions.

Waiting, he watched the image of the Dark Lord form in his mirror behind the web. Through it the voice swam in and out, the shimmer adding to the effect that one of them was bobbing up and under the water desperately, though both their countenances belied such desperation.

"My lord. Nothing could be salvaged from the diary. Dumbledore must have broken its magic."  
"One would suppose with your composed speaking you'd eventually say something of merit. Or at least accuracy."

Stiffly, "I speak the truth. It's -"

"Blocked. Not broken. I can feel it. I can feel him." Voldemort's eyes close, his expression appearing far more distasteful than pleased. "I've drawn what strength I could from him. He's of no use to me there. Not under Dumbledore's protection."

"What do you wish be done?" Lucius' breath caught on in his throat awaiting the response.

"I've sent out my request already. I expect a response as soon as a bee stops buzzing to him." The slitted lines that shadow for lips turned up.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12: Unwoven**

Percy's face was not the first one to hover over a toilet, not even this one specifically. Not that he minded. Growing up at the Weasleys well prepared one for not being able to claim seniority.

And to expect that somehow your face will "accidentally" wind up reaching the water.

But Tom was no Weasley, even if he did look a bit murderous ever since their most recent visit to the library was a sunk cost. Looking closer, Percy corrected himself. Tom looked incredibly frustrated and a touch desperate, his gaze intensely fixated on every inch of the room he turned towards. Had Percy truly gotten violent vibes from him, Percy was sure he'd feel more alarmed than just sympathetic. The correction was neither here nor anywhere for anyone but his mind, but it felt good to be exact, anyway.

Resting back on his knees Percy shook his head. "No sign of Myrtle."

"There _has_ to be something." Tom began to fiddle with the faucets, walls, floor, fixtures, any and everything showing, trying to trip up some sort of reaction. While nothing came of it, Percy had to admit he wouldn't have thought to try some of the trigger methods and patterns Tom did, though he was able to reason out the logic behind them. As Tom worked his mind continued trying to reason things out aloud. "Clippings, references, files… people don't just vanish when they die and end up haunting a toilet."

"Well, yes, that would fall under the haunting aspect," Percy pointed out.

Tom shot him a brief dry look. "As long as you're amusing yourself."

Slowly Percy straightened up, cracking his back. "I'm on my knees looking into waste bowls frequented by girls for you, I get total mobility of mockery."

"What else would you be doing?" Tom only turned to him when Percy failed to reply, giving him an expectant look.

"I'm not entirely sure," Percy admitted. Moving to wash his hands, after a long pause he offered, "check on Penny, I suppose."

Tom nodded slowly. "And if none of this had happened?"

Percy blinked, surprised at the question. In truth he didn't think he could imagine a situation where none of this had happened. Oh, he'd pictured himself getting to Ginny in time. He pictured Harry and Ron saving her. Or Ginny's murderer breaking its neck tripping over a Quidditch broom left lying about. Various images with varying degrees of him helping alter the events constantly barraged him. But for none of it to have happened… it wasn't possible. It was too great, too inclusive an event. Small things could change. But not when so many added up they couldn't all be undone. He didn't even know how far back to go for when it all started.

"Percy?"

Tom's questioning voice brought him back. Shaking his head slowly, Percy tried a small smile. "I think I broke my mind. You should warn people before you bring up the subject of time."

A smile to mirror his carved up Tom's lips. "Dangerous, is it?"

"Easy enough to find yourself caught up trying to untangle," Percy nodded.

Tom leaned against the sink next to him, gamely playing. "Always the concepts understood in linear terms you have to watch out for."

"It works right one way, then double-backing not as much." His voice lighter than it'd been in a good while, Percy closed the faucet tight and, finding no towels, dried his hands on his sleeves grudgingly.

"Damn inconsistent measure of reality," Tom added just as lightly, watching him. "I'd say I'd take care of it for you but alas, still wandless."

Percy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You would?"

Tom's smile merely widened charmingly. "Well, it'd mean I'd have a wand."

Smiling and shaking his head Percy turned and began heading out. "I doubt you'd need one."

Giving the room a last careful look Tom replied, "I suppose that's a compliment."

"Of course it is. But I am thankfully more than capable of fighting my own battles." Percy impatiently held the door waiting for him to exit as well.

After he was satisfied Tom complied. "It wasn't a serious example, you know."

"Even in those cases." Percy let the heavy door close, making certain no one was about before realizing Tom was giving him the same scrutiny he had the bathroom tiles.

Before Percy could say anything Tom gave a nod and moved on. "So noted. Percy Weasley needs none in battles real or jest."

Percy rolled his eyes slightly, more from embarrassment at being called out than anything. "You make it sound so melodramatic."

"Did I? Apologies. I was merely making sure I had what you said linear." Tom's voice was calm, precise, and excellently timed as he retorted the slightly quirky reply. It reminded Percy vaguely of Headmaster Dumbledore in that moment and he let himself have a private smile over it. Aimlessly they wandered until Percy's subconscious caught up with him. He was headed in the direction of the classroom he and Penny often met at. She wasn't there, of course.

He knew her schedule by heart now. At first, before they'd gotten together, he'd nonchalantly taking note of when they'd crossed paths in the corridors to see if it was habit or coincidence. Then, after the first and second and handfuls of other times she'd smiled back even when he'd spoken, and after she let him take her to Hogsmeade, and after she'd laughed with awkward embarrassment each time he expressed amazement she seemed interested in his company… after all that, he still couldn't believe she conspired with him to steal moments they could share in private. They'd poured over their schedules of classes and studies and prefect duties, arranging quiet dates together. Nothing too intimate yet, physically, at least. Even though most of them had happened in the castle during this year of fear and tension, their spots had been a haven. Certainly the Ravenclaw in her – and fair amount of Ravenclaw in him – had gotten pleasure out of snogging behind classroom doors. A few get-togethers in the Astronomy tower had been less than desirable, they'd decided. Classically romantic spots she'd felt were stale, and he found them merely heavy with expectation. He knew Bill and Charlie had stories from up there, and their rugged faces in his mind when – no. Needless to say, failed experiment. The Quidditch lockers had been a personal favorite of his for a quick kiss or two. However, since he couldn't quite explain the satisfaction his less than athletic Weasley self found in it without fearing he'd sound crazy he'd never suggested it again. The Prefects bathroom was a place they'd both eyed but as of yet hadn't suggested, and even now the possibilities made him flush slightly and force his mind off such matters.

Looking at Tom, he found the boy quiet and his face unreadable, like always. It could be a bad sign since Percy wasn't certain how long his mind had turned to Penny. Guilt over their earlier tiff flooded his chest, though it was fear that constricted it the most. He didn't want to let anything else slip from him. For some reason the image of his mother popped into his head. She was red-faced as he, his father, and his siblings all had probably several fights and conversations going on all at once. Clearly overwhelmed though her voice betrayed nothing but a commanding presence she'd ordered them all to shut their traps and sit down quietly, to not move, not speak, not do anything but just be still for a moment. Percy longed for that now. He wanted a moment to be still and rest, not alone but not having anything moving. He wasn't very good at commanding such things. Somehow, unlike with his mother, he sounded purely annoyed and exasperated without any fondness peeking through.

It wasn't something he could ask for, certainly not with Tom. He had seen longing in Tom's eyes, but never for rest or respite. Always the blue burned with either an attacking, scavenging, wary, or assured hunger, or else they were blankly closed off to any reading. Percy had little desire to be the first to let down his guard to someone whose attitude he not only understood but aspired to on more than one occasion.

"… geese grew fangs?"

That, that line cut through his thoughts. Shaking his head slightly, Percy refocused on Tom, who was still peering into the classroom. "What?"

Tom looked at him for a moment, then stoically said, "I was just sharing the meaning of life. You missed it."

Percy gave a small smile. "Damn."

"You'll never keep a mentor that way," Tom said easily, and while Percy knew he was jesting, nonetheless the words gripped him. He wasn't certain why; probably because his mind had been so focused on losing things.

Forcing himself to maintain a light humor, Percy added, "or a guru."

"Or a sage."

"Teacher."

"Advisor."

"Advice columnist." A female voice offered the last one, causing both Percy and Tom to turn silently at the speaker. They found Penny standing behind them a few paces, one hand on the wall. She was clearly a bit discomfited but gamely gave a slight smile. "No others? I win, then."

Tom recovered first and stepped towards her, smoothing over the incident earlier. "We didn't really meet before."

Penny's eyes fell for a moment, then came up to rest more on Percy than Tom. Her voice was soft though, perhaps tired but devoid of anger. "No. We didn't." Looking directly at Tom she offered, "I'm sure I'd like to. But maybe later, if you don't mind."

It was wrong. It was shallow, and petty, and undoubtedly superficial, but it made Percy smile, so he'd take Penny gently blowing Tom aside for him. Decidedly not an expert in the field, Percy was still well aware that even worn out and in casual clothing Tom was attractive. His clinical mind could observe the boy's features and how others responded to them. At the very least Tom was handsomer than Percy. But then, Percy thought a bit ruefully, that wasn't hard to manage, especially of late.

Tom's expression didn't waver, merely giving them a nod. "Later would be wonderful. I should really be off, anyway." Without a backwards glance at them he headed off. Both Percy and Penny watched his retreating form until distance and the night's shadows blurred him out. Left with little else, they turned to face each other again. Instinctively, Percy pulled her into the classroom, closing them inside.

"Are you – how are you?" The question didn't exactly role out of Percy's mouth but he managed it. It was a safe inquiry, or at least he hoped it would be.

Penny gave a small shrug. "I know how I'd like to be. That's easier to know right now. I don't know why." She sounded faintly annoyed, and one of the things Percy loved about her was just that. Penny didn't like sweeping melodrama with him. She was analytical and honest, leaving dazzle for the academic or professional spheres. She wouldn't say she didn't know how she was to tease or for effect. She genuinely would wish to understand everything about herself.

Percy pulled her into a hug. She fit well against him. Her head reached his chest, her arms easily able to slide up around his neck. He longed to be in her position for a moment, to slightly tilt his head and be able to easily lean against her chest and listen to her heart beat against his ear. But at least she was quiet, and a silent moment stretched out undisturbed.

Surprisingly, he broke it. "I'm sorry I wasn't around earlier," he whispered.

She didn't even tense against him. "It's all right. I shouldn't have yelled. It's not like I needed a white knight or anything. I can barely look at Nearly Headless Nick when he shows his neck, so I think horse riders are not for me, anyway."

Part of him was far less calm about her words. Granted, she'd seen sides of him nobody else had… she'd seen the care behind his nagging, the desire to help intermingled with his ambition. But he'd always tried very carefully to be anything and everything she could possibly need. It wasn't just that she had seemed to care about him in return. He liked that specific image of himself as strong and handy. It was wonderful to seem useful and impenetrable in general, but to seem so to those whose opinions he desperately respected was about as good as anything could get. He shouldn't have said anything, he should have just let the moment be. Now he felt a bit more revealed, a bit more vulnerable, and while he trusted Penny over anyone else, he didn't trust anyone entirely. Backpedaling was in order. "Knight clichés aside, I still wanted to." She pulled back to study him, but even though he knew she preferred to leisurely think things through before responding he couldn't help but keep speaking quickly. "You deserve it."

"Percy." She was back enough to look him in the eyes. "It's really not a big issue. I saw my friends, I hung out with my familiar…" her gaze fell into uncertainty. "I know I have my moments of anxiety."

Percy shook his head no. _No more than me_, he thought at least. Of course, he tried not to let that part of him show as much, even if he did at times fail miserably. It was odd. Hearing others' troubles at times filled him with frustration, but with Penny it wasn't as often. Perhaps the good times with her outweighed the bad or she was less inclined to make her troubles seem worse than he could ever possibly have had to deal with. He knew was hypocritical to wish to appear infallible and also be annoyed when others assumed everything was impossibly easy for him. Maybe what he wished was for someone to acknowledge it for him.

Looking at her he admitted, "I've gotten O's in anxiety lately." He couldn't leave it without trying to cover up lightly. "You know, must make the mark in everything."

Penny was quiet for a moment. He couldn't tell if she was distracted, or if that was again his anxiety rearing up. Then she nodded. "I won't lecture, I'm sure you've heard it. And I'm sure you'll manage."

It was, perhaps, the worst thing he'd heard in his life. Not because of the words themselves, but because he hadn't been prepared for them. A part of him was incredibly disappointed she had so clearly either misread him or glossed over his pain; another part of him was chiding himself to being so open for it. He shouldn't expect people to read his intentions, and he certainly shouldn't feel betrayed when he was let down. Being there for someone else didn't mean he was clear enough with his own needs.

Or he just wasn't worth it to them. To her.

His head ached. He'd lost a sister; Penny had nearly lost her life. He'd had days to worry over her, days she couldn't recall because she'd been trapped in a frozen horror. He hadn't been there enough for her. Or she just didn't need him so much anymore. He was being dramatic and pathetic, and he loathed it. And yet he felt anger at the thought that she might loathe it, too, when he couldn't help but be hurt by it. And not just her, but his family, his friends… the ones he had… ones he hadn't pushed away by some act of his or another. Or worse, that they'd just moved on. Even Oliver had to find non-Quidditch related activities more enjoyable than Percy's company would be of late.

Breathing was difficult, feigning nonchalance even more so. "Yeah. Well." He shrugged.

She half-shrugged, half-nodded back. A helpless, or meaningless, noncommittal gesture. It infuriated him, and perhaps he was now infuriating her. He had to leave. Losing his ability to reach her at this moment was more than he could take. Certainly more than he wished to show her.

"I should go. I hope you have a good night." Stiff, formal, but polite, even though he didn't want for a response. The sad part was, some aspect of him meant it. Oh, it was partly petty, to contradictorily seem like the bigger person wishing her well. But he also genuinely wanted her to see him as that good. Which was a hair's breath within actually being the good, wasn't it?

He didn't know, and leaving was better. Percy let his steps carry him away. He forced himself not to look back at her in case she wasn't watching him. His self-pity couldn't take any further hits.

He didn't wish to help another, not at this point. He wished to take control in a far less pleasant manner. Usually such cases ended in him reprimanding fellow students over petty school code rules, or catching the twins in a particularly moronic prank. But right now, he wanted air more. With the classroom haven tainted, all of Hogwarts felt suffocating. Not bothering to fetch a cloak Percy stepped outside, breaking in the cool air, wishing it was snowing. The sharp freezing of winter helped numb from the outside in. However, at least it wasn't so cold that he'd look odd standing outside. Indeed, he saw several students in the distance enjoying the evening by milling about or playing. He tried to focus on them, ending up nearly missing Ron and his friends hurrying by him.

Percy sidestepped quickly. He had little fear of Harry being unable to swerve around him, star seeker that he was. Ron and Hermione, however, and even himself, he wouldn't put past a few hits. He needn't have feared they'd notice anything off about him. They seemed in quite a hurry, as they often did when he saw them together. He barely managed a nod at them before they were gone, then he lifted his eyes in the direction they'd come, forehead wrinkling slightly. Probably Hagrid's, Percy decided. Just as he reached his conclusion a hand snapped in front of his face, a surprising small shower of literal sparks accompanying it, causing him to jerk back strongly.

Tom lowered his hand casually, watching him. "Big thoughts?" Percy hadn't even heard him approach.

Shaking his head quickly, Percy changed the topic. "Where did you go off to?"

Tom inclined his head in the direction of where Ron, Harry, and Hermione had come. When he didn't speak Percy waved a hand to encourage, slightly irritably adding, "And?"

Tom gave him a beatific smile. Seeing it was slightly disconcerting considering the surprising magic shower he'd just witnessed. Well, shower was an overstatement. It had only been a few sparks, nothing magic children hadn't done for years on end when emotional or surprised. Yet… had Tom been either? Well, he was older, and considerably talented given the attention Dumbledore had shown him. It was reasonable some magic would make itself evident by his hand, and it wouldn't be like Tom to show he was surprised by it even if he had been.

"Not here," was Tom's reply. Calming down a bit, Percy was grateful Tom seemed fine with leaving Percy off topic at the moment. Inclining his head to follow, Tom began to walk away, and after a moment Percy let himself follow.

\\\\\\\

Clearly something had rattled Percy. I could see it plainly in his face, the guardedness that begged to be overlooked. I let him keep his private hell at the moment, not looking back even when hearing him follow. I led him around the side of the castle, staying close to its walls. We also faced neither forest nor Quidditch pitch nor lake, nothing in sight that would be tempting to moony-eyed lovers, pretentious dreamers, or tiresome pranksters. In short, we were unlikely to be interrupted.

I thought back on what I'd just witnessed at the giant's hut. It hadn't been difficult at all to follow the young Gryffindors when I'd seen them leave the castle. They seemed devoid of inborn paranoia, or perhaps were simply too brashly egotistical, to suspect, and I had little else to go on. At first I'd just been biding my time until I could think of how to form questions I wanted to ask, and then their destination made me realize silent observance was a better instinct to follow. From our brief meeting several days ago it was clear the giant – Hagrid, that was it – knew something of me.

It took a few moments for my hearing to adjust to the muffling of the door. I leaned close, careful not to lean against it lest it squeak. I swallowed my impatience and tried to focus. After a few moments the voices did sound louder, or perhaps my focus merely did help make them sound clearer.

Predictably enough, Hagrid's voice was the loudest, overlapping over the others. A quick surreptitious glance in the nearby window showed him situated at a large table beside a slobbering monstrosity I could then also swear I heard panting. Pulling back I heard in his guttural speech ask the three students what more they wanted from him.

"… could start with anything," Percy's brother had said clearly enough, though I missed how he'd begun.

I heard a mild slap causing Ron to yelp, then Hermione saying, "Honestly. Anyway, Hagrid, we know about Aragog. You know what Harry saw in the diary, and he and Ron spoke with Aragog later."

Harry's voice felt unmistakable to me as it followed. "Do you think Riddle knew? That it wasn't Aragog?"

A snort escaped from Hagrid, followed by other nonsensical sounds my mind glossed over before hearing, "Even if he didn't, it was a right sorry thing to do to a friend."

"You were friends?" Hermione's voice again, hesitantly skeptical.

"Well, maybe not rightly friends, but he'd tutored me and I thought… well, I assumed he'd know I wasn't capable of doing something like that. Harboring something that was hurting anyone." He paused, but whether he received affirmation for his statement from them I had no way of telling. He pressed on. "I at least thought he'd hear me out, considering what was at stake." And then, stupidly, the man focused on Aragog again. "It just wasn't right, blaming him, nearly killing him like that."

"And nearly costing you your life," Harry butted in. I wished to tell the boy that even the obvious was clearly lost on Hagrid. It was perhaps inconsiderate of me to think so, but I couldn't abide simplicity. Least of all from someone who was speaking against me.

Although, I suppose it was better than someone intelligent doing so. Although, wasn't that what the three Gryffindors were now attempting? Or were they, like me, simply unable to let the past rest, lying fat upon its unshared secrets that somehow connected us all?

Hagrid's voice was dark, indirectly responding to Harry. "Whatever it is, it was dark magic that brought him back, you can be assured of that. Anything that comes from Lucius Malfoy you know is best not tangled with."

I drew in my breath along with Harry, Hermione and Ron. "You're sure that… I mean, how do you know the diary came from Malfoy?"

"He was causing a right fit trying to get it back; part of what kept Dumbledore from getting to spring me sooner from Azkaban. Believe him? Acting all concerned for the students when he was the one planting the seed all along in that little girl's…" Hagrid's voice trailed off, then expressed sorrow. "I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't meant to… you know…"

"It's all right, Hagrid," I heard Ron say tightly, and then with more conviction, "It is. Really."

It shouldn't be. But far be it for me to tell someone what to do. At least not when I really didn't care. I heard movement and hurriedly backed away, pressing myself into the woods. To my annoyance they didn't come out until several long minutes had passed, but it was too risky to try and get close again. Impatiently I waited for them to leave, then surreptitiously followed, seeing them nearly crash into Percy and head into the safety of the stone school.

I was brimming with energy, my mind alight with finally something to go on. I felt my insides nearly crackling with anticipation, the vibrations expelling themselves in a short burst of faint red specks when I snapped my fingers to alert Percy to my presence. The sudden magic did startle me, but after what I'd heard I was already steamrolling on a promising path. Drawing Percy round the corner, all I shared was a simple, "loos no more required."

Percy's expression turned confused, vaguely annoyed rather than curious. "Can't you just make sense? I get enough surreptitious talk from Dumbledore."

The cranky reply nagged at me more than it should, though why I wasn't certain. I watched Percy carefully, keeping my tone neutral. "What happened?"

Percy slide down against the wall, then moved forward scant inches so he wasn't actually touching the wall. "Nothing."

I sat beside him, more than fine using the wall to lean my back straight up against. "Clearly."

"What do you care?" Perhaps it was because he wasn't certain I would care. Or that after everything, caring what I thought wasn't as important. Percy looked for a moment like he'd sob, but tears couldn't even form as the words tonelessly fell out. "I'm sick of marks not being good enough. Of not having my good news or things I've worked hard for ever panning out as good as they should. I now dread whenever things seem to be going good. It's always followed by something bad which comes too fast to have let me catch my breath. Single little moments don't add up. Not when each time one comes you've already fallen so much farther down it's impossible to get as much happiness out of them as the last time without exhausting yourself. I'm sick of not being the favorite with anyone, even myself. And I can't even tell anyone because this sounds stupid and selfish and pathetic… and just _stupid_. But it hurts. Not just because of everything that's happened and not just because I know it won't get any better. But because a part of me always says that it can and it will, that things work out or I can make them work out, or I should, and yet I don't and it doesn't. I'm terrified because it does hurt, but I can't even cry about it anymore. It's like something inside me's broken or disintegrated. I can't feel that much anymore, and that's not what I wanted. I didn't want to stop feeling. I just want a reason not to have to feel it."

Nothing. Percy wouldn't even be able to hear me breathing beside him. When I felt him lift his head to look at me I remained sitting still, my gaze cast down in front rather than on him. Defensiveness seemed to ripple out of him, causing his voice to clip crisply. "You can go ahead, laugh and mock or sneer or whatnot. If you want to." Not meaning it he still forced himself to say, "I really don't care."

I merely shook my head. "I was just thinking. I suppose," I said slowly, "that in the end, it doesn't much matter who it is that betrays you."

Percy looked like he wished to refute what I'd said, but seemed defeated in finding a way to do so. "I'll make it right. I just… can't right now. Won't. Can't." The words didn't seem clearly interchangeable to him regardless of what he said.

I rose, giving him a nod that he should follow suit. "Then lets see to your sister's murderer, shall we?"

Percy still had the good sense to look guarded. "The basilisk is dead, Tom. Forget?"

"Ha. I mean the one who helped Ginny open the Chamber. Lucius Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" I saw his face change, subtle but telling. Puzzlement, wanting to believe, skepticism, rationalizing all following each other in a collapsing row. "We did see him in the bookshop. But Malfoy? It doesn't seem… I don't know, Tom. We're missing things."

I knew that. But I was tired of waiting. "Then let's go and find out. We'll learn more there than here with Dumbledore over our shoulders and ghostly girls whinging."

"Getting there won't be easy. Dumbledore alone…" Percy saw the resolution on my face and quieted for a moment. "You've already thought about all that."

"Yes." It wouldn't be easy. But I didn't care. I instinctively knew that I'd gone through many unpleasant things in my life. And I also knew on some level that I could go through anything; regardless of pain I could resolutely stand face to face against whatever was slung at me and I'd never back down. Oh, I might duck or twist around it rather than head on attack, but I would never lose ground and not regain it and then some.

I would go without him. But Percy would hardly be dead weight. He might be a much needed buffer. From his look, I thought I saw that he might be thinking the same of me. I reached down a hand to pull him up with me.

\\\\\\

He sat unmoving with his eyes closed and his, long, spider-like fingers steepled in front of him. It was a pose so classically villainous that Lucius would raise an eyebrow in mocking, had it not been him.

Inside his house.

Inside his study inside his personal fortress-like mansion. And not via a projecting mirror, not through magic and tricks.

Lord Voldemort was situated inside Lucius' personal space. And Lucius Malfoy not only had no idea how the man had managed it, but did know there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

Voldemort's skin looked stretched and slightly translucent; in person it was clear he was still far from being wholly well. Yet he was back, there was no disputing it. Some ancient magic tinged the air, more so than Lucius recalled when being in the dark lord's presence. Riddle's reappearance had restored what had never been lost, merely hibernating. Waiting. Seething.

In his imported, expensive chair.

Voldemort's eyes opened, the red immediately focused on Lucius' eyes. Whereas Lucius had found potential in Riddle's gaze Voldemort showed power realized and then some.

And then Voldemort smiled, a visual representation of his cold, high laugh. "Boo."

Lucius almost started, then realized it was what Voldemort would be looking for. Pulling himself upright after a deep bow, he tried to look unperturbed by either his master's skill or whimsy. "My lord."

It was clear Voldemort was studying him, but Lucius noted the lord did not lean back in the seat. In fact, he couldn't recall seeing Voldemort recline in any seat, or slump for longer than moments. Always his back was stiff, his posture perfected. It felt like an odd through point to carry his old memories of Voldemort forward to mingle with the present encounter.

"You've done well," Voldemort commented. It was so much more than an obvious statement. Lucius couldn't help but glance about him at his refined dwellings and gave a small swallow, withholding replying until he had to.

As usual, it was difficult to gauge exactly what the dark lord was thinking. His eyes were fathomless, and the pleasantness in his voice barely registered with Lucius anymore. After hearing, and even himself using, such tones when casting Unforgiveables, one learned to look at nothing more than whatever bottom line was being drawn, not how it was done up. Still, it was how the game was done. Himself adopting a humbled, repenting manner, Lucius said, "I've managed to reside in a fortunate position. One favorable to both my family and my causes."

Voldemort rose with a slowness that showed either calculated grace or a hint of weakness. Lucius couldn't tell which it was. Doubtless his own paranoia made him question the seemingly casual elegance for possibly an area to exploit. Of course, the man in front of him had been more than active in helping him form such paranoid barriers those long years ago. One would have to be a fool to underestimate Lord Voldemort.

Or, hopefully, a Gryffindor.

The ebony cases on the walls held numerous treasures of the Malfoy family. Voldemort perused them as let Lucius wait for him to speak. He did so in a manner that was not as if he owned them, but as if they, along with their owner, were showcasing themselves for his pleasure.

Everything was judged by Voldemort using some criteria he never shared, and Lucius doubted anything ever measured up against it.

The pale fingers deftly probed a putty-like bubble that yawned open with ivory teeth when properly stroked. A pungent scent escaped when it blossomed, jelly-like bits oozing down its sides as it shuddered under Voldemort's ministrations. The purple blobs liquidated when hitting the wood, staining it, causing the wood to literally weep. Lucius saw the dark lord's eyes look intrigued, and realized two things.

One, Voldemort not knowing exactly what the thing was and still handling it spoke of great ego – a given - and a curiosity that could get the better of him – a long-suspected quirk.

Also, Voldemort not knowing exactly what the thing was meant he was not yet entirely caught up on the last twelve years.

As if reading Lucius' thoughts, or simply annoyed with his slight shifts, Voldemort turned and gazed at him in cool appraisement. He made no move to take out his wand; did he have his wand? Lucius didn't even know, but he sincerely hoped the man - being - hadn't.

And then in a quick flash one hand of inhuman fingers laid flat against his neck, then each digit excruciatingly slowly curling into the fabric of Lucius' high collar. A slow, torturous moment passed where Lucius was literally frozen waiting for whatever endless things his master could do. The fingers were like ice; even through the velvet collar they were like frozen picks poking directly against his veins. The fingers then moved slowly in a rhythmic pattern. Mechanically massaging the juncture between where his shoulder met his neck Lucius felt himself tense contradictorily, sickly waiting for the fingers to turn vice-like and snap him open.

Voldemort's voice was soft, his gaze devoid of pleasure even at Lucius' expression. "Keeping a book in an attic is very different from housing me, you'll find. I suggest you take great care to make your household appropriately welcoming to your guests, Lucius. I do hope your manners haven't waned. Or perhaps my memories have an inaccurate sheen to them." Lucius wasn't even aware he wasn't breathing as he gave a quick shake of his head. "Of course not, my lord. I mean, you are right, as always. I'm honored by your presence."

The fingers released him, one digit at a time again, both their eyes watching. Lucius suddenly realized that perhaps Lord Voldemort hadn't touched many things in years. His senses were not those of a half-life anymore. He seemed a bit awed by it, though not as much as Lucius was amazed. Oh, he wasn't surprised that Voldemort could survive, but he couldn't help wonder what it must be like to rise again. Or perhaps it wasn't for the second time. Voldemort had, after all, cast off Tom Riddle at one point. And now, that former self had managed to bring out yet another incarnation of him. It was an irony that Lucius was certain Voldemort would not like to have spoken.

Lucius met the red again, only then recalling that Voldemort had said guests. But by the look Lucius knew better than to question and merely waited for what instructions his immortal leader would command.

/lj-cut 


End file.
